


Love, Crabs, and Other Disasters

by Gort, sunalso



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - No SHIELD (Marvel), Background TripDaisy - Freeform, Beaches, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, The Florida Keys, all the crabs, background fitzsimmons, background mackelena, crabs, more crabs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:13:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 30,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24288718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gort/pseuds/Gort, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunalso/pseuds/sunalso
Summary: In sunny Key West, crabs are usually in the water, not scuttling loose in the airport. But the crabs aren't what catches Hunter's attention. Bobbi's life has been upended and she's planning to spend her vacation figuring out her new normal, but that's before a hotel mix-up lands her on a tiny Key where she discovers the bartender is the same guy who saved her and her luggage from a horde of crustaceans. Can good food, good company, good beaches, and a few good luck crabs help Hunter and Bobbi figure out that "normal" is relative and might be best when it's shared?
Relationships: Lance Hunter/Bobbi Morse
Comments: 179
Kudos: 48





	1. Crab Legs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Happy Season 7! <3 <3 Love, Gort and Sunalso <3 _

The ice-cold margarita hit the back of his throat and went down easy. Hunter took another, larger, drink before setting his glass down. The little bar in the Key West airport didn’t mix drinks nearly as well as he did, but it was nice being on the other side of the counter. A lazy ocean breeze carried the scent of sea air on it, the ocean never being far away in the little corner of the world Hunter had tucked himself into.

“I just don’t know if she likes me,” Fitz said, staring down at the blue concoction in his glass.

Hunter suppressed a sigh. He’d been listening to his mate mope about this bird he fancied since the bloke had arrived a week ago. Now Fitz was flying home to his posh job with MI-6, a far cry from when Hunter had met Fitz. Back then Hunter had been a newly minted part of the SAS and Fitz had been the grumpy Scot handling maintenance for the company’s vehicles.

Things had happened since then, things that’d pushed Fitz into some rarified air and hung Hunter out to dry on a tiny island in the Florida Keys.

There was a good chance that the British government had sent Fitz to check up on Hunter, but it had been a good week of screaming at footie matches on the telly, getting pissed, and laughing at old jokes. It’d also been a solid week of Hunter having to hear, in full-on living color, Fitz tie himself in knots over the enigmatic Jemma Simmons.

“Look,” Hunter said after polishing off his margarita. “She’s picking you up at the airport. Simply invite her up to your place for a chat.” Not that Jemma and Fitz need to catch up about anything, they’d spent hours face timing each other, and Fitz took pictures of every sunset for her. It was a disgusting amount of pining. Hunter had no idea how anyone could be that in love.

“Simply invite her up?” Fitz sputtered. He upended his drink and polished it off in one go, the glass clinking on the counter as he dropped it onto the bar. “I’m not you. You’ve always gotten what you want in the bedroom department. All you have to do is smile and say three words and whoever you want is already naked.”

Hunter plastered a smile on his face. “It’s only a bit of charm.” That he hadn’t had in years. “You’re already in with this girl. I promise, just ask her up. She’ll still be there to have brekkie with you in the morning.”

“I wonder if she likes strawberries?”

Hunter clapped Fitz’s shoulder and they stood, Fitz shouldering his carry-on bag, and walked across the street to the small airport terminal. The air inside was as sticky and hot as outside, only with less of a breeze.

Fitz had always looked up to Hunter, and at one point of time being the cool older brother figure had been fun, but now it was just exhausting. He should tell Fitz that he didn’t bother to follow up on any of the flirtatious looks he got while slinging drinks in a beachside dive. It was the only restaurant on the tiny island he called home, no more than twenty-five people were permanent residents, the number tripling during the tourist season when boatloads of party-goers would stop to sun themselves on the beach and grab lunch.

He simply hadn’t been interested in any of the coy smiles or the promise of an hour of fun. The old him, the one who’d gotten the SAS tattoo on his left shoulder blade, would have been in heaven with all the scantily clad bodies that danced in and out of the dive. But the tattoo had faded, and along with it Hunter’s desire for things that were mere distractions.

Complex PTSD was what the army therapist Hunter phoned every other week had diagnosed him with.

The name didn’t make any of it better, but Fitz visiting had been a bright spot. For a week, Hunter had been able to pretend everything was fine. It’d been nice.

“Next time, you bring this Jemma with you,” Hunter said, clasping Fitz in a tight hug.

Between them, Fitz’s mobile buzzed. He eagerly stepped back and pulled it out. “That’ll be Simmons, she promised she’d send a text with the weather conditions over the Atlantic.”

The boyish grin on Fitz’s face made Hunter’s heart ache. When had he last been that happy about anything?

“Let me know when you get there,” Hunter said, raising his hand in a farewell as Fitz shuffled towards the front of the security line.

“I will, thank you!” Fitz waved his mobile at Hunter before stepping up to the checkpoint to have his passport checked.

Hunter turned around and plucked his own mobile out of his back pocket. He dialed the UK number he’d cleverly memorized from any of the ten thousand times he’d seen it on Fitz’s screen over the last week.

“Hello?” a lovely British voice answered.

“This is Hunter, I’m—”

“Is everything alright? Is Fitz okay? Did he miss his flight?”

Hunter grumbled under his breath. Gold medal to this one in the jumping to conclusions department. Though she sounded as bad as Fitz in the pining department. “He’s fine, just heading to the gate in Key West. Very happy about the weather report.”

“Excellent, I worked hard because I promised him I would arrive on time to pick him up and I needed to make sure the flight would be in when I expected it to.”

Hunter wondered if she’d already camped out at Heathrow in eager anticipation of Fitz’s arrival. An empty spot opened in Hunter’s chest. He’d had some lovers he thought he’d been close to, but none of them had ever seemed to want him simply to be there, and after his medical discharge, nobody had wanted the only thing he’d had left to offer: himself.

“Anyway,” he continued as he threaded his way back through the busy terminal, “I’m calling you because I told him he better invite you up to his flat, but being Fitz he might talk himself out of it, so then you better invite yourself.”

There was a sharp intake of air from Jemma. “Oh,” she said softly. “Do you…do you think he likes me?”

Bloody hell, these two were a matched set, blasted peas and carrots. “I’ve heard nothing else but how much Fitz adores you but doesn’t think you’d want him to ask you out.”

It was secondary school all over again.

A flurry of scuttling made Hunter pause, as did the raised murmur of voices around him.

His nerves tightened and his muscles drew taut.

“Better make sure you two figure something out soon,” Hunter murmured, attempting to look nonchalant as he surveyed his surroundings, noting points of egress, how many men with red hats were in the crowd, and where a sniper could perch. He didn’t even have to think that hard, his mind simply did a tactical evaluation in the blink of an eye. “Or I’m calling in a favor and getting you two locked up together for a week.”

A flash of gold caught his attention as Jemma rambled on about how a week would be too long because of some sensitive experiments she had going.

All the sunlight in the room seemed to gather itself into one place as if it was honored to brush across the skin of the woman standing near the baggage claim carousel. Behind her, the contraption whirred and clinked as it turned. She had sparkly trainers on, sunglasses on her forehead, a pair of capris that showed off toned calves, and a blouse that skimmed her breasts.

Hunter blinked.

He simply had to know who this blonde goddess was, where she came from, what her pink lips looked like when she smiled, because right now she had a scowl in place as she glared at the baggage carousel.

Wait.

Things were moving on the carousel. Big things with claws.

The entire carousel teemed with crabs the size of diner hamburgers, their blue and white shells shiny in the light. They all seemed as confused as Hunter felt as they tipped themselves over the edge to scamper sideways on the ground.

Hunter knew he’d stopped far too close when a crab poked at the toe of his trainer and another reached up and clipped itself onto the leg of his jeans.

“I’m going to have to let you go,” he mumbled to Jemma. “I have crabs.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Garlic Crab Legs Recipe ](https://www.allrecipes.com/recipe/19493/garlic-crab-legs/?internalSource=hub%20recipe&referringContentType=Search)


	2. Steamed Crab

_ Take a vacation _ , everyone had said.  _ You need to relax _ , they’d said.  _ A change of scenery will do you good _ .

Bobbi bet none of those jerks were dealing with a hoard of crustaceans trying to take over the baggage claim. A crab that could easily span a dinner plate scuttled toward her at an impressive speed, making its escape. Steamed and dripping with butter, she could handle, but catching her own food sure as hell hadn’t been in the brochure.

She hopped to one side to get out of its path, only to remember too late exactly why she had time for a vacation. Pain shot through her knee, radiating through her leg, and she winced, stumbling instead of gracefully pivoting the way she used to be able to—right into a solid body.

“It’s alright,” an accented voice said in her ear. “I’ve got you.”

A steadying hand clasped her elbow and Bobbi spun, slowly this time, to find herself face to face with a pair of warm brown eyes and a mischievous grin. Her mouth went dry. Of course she’d literally run into a ridiculously handsome Brit two seconds after arriving at her nice, quiet destination that she’d deliberately picked so she wouldn’t have to talk to anyone.

“I don’t need any help,” she said, taking a step back. Her knee twinged but held.

Nearby, someone yelped, followed by a flurry of laughter. A woman was standing on a bench across from the baggage carousel, tapping furiously on her phone, and a few of the other passengers were making cautious attempts to snag their bags. 

“Of course,” the Brit replied easily, dropping his hand. His smile didn’t falter. “I know it feels like we’re at the ends of the earth, but we’ve got plenty of fresh seafood. No need to import your own.”

Bobbi gaped at him. “They’re not my crabs!”

He had the utter audacity to  _ wink _ at her. “Say it just like that when security gets here. I’ll back you up.”

Two months away from work and already her usual ‘don’t fuck with me’ vibe was slipping. Or possibly this guy was just too dense to pick up on it. With a face like that, brains were probably an afterthought. Choosing to wear a floral shirt  _ that  _ loud definitely required not thinking too much.

“Look-” Bobbi began.

“Hunter,” he supplied without a hitch, extending a hand. It was a nice hand, with lean, tan fingers and a broad palm. The already-warm temperature seemed to go up another degree or two. In another lifetime, one where she wasn’t questioning every choice she’d ever made, she wouldn’t have hesitated. The air, hot and sticky, made the prospect of taking off her clothes even more enticing, but she did not fly all the way to the middle of nowhere just for some clichéd vacation fling.

“Hunter,” she repeated, ignoring the invitation to share her own name. “I’m sure this works on whatever fresh-face college girls usually show up, but you’re wasting your time, okay? I’m not…”

She trailed off as more luggage spilled onto the conveyor, including her brand-new black and white check suitcase. She’d bought it mainly because it was easy to spot but she hadn’t counted on it also being a crab magnet. There were at least three clinging to the top and sides of her bag as it slid down and hit the guardrail with a bang, but instead of scuttling off like the rest of their brethren, these crabs hung on for dear life.

“Shit,” Bobbi muttered.

“Yours, I presume,” Hunter drawled, crossing his arms. He didn’t seem daunted by her rejection or the crabs. One scuttled toward them and he nudged it with the toe of his sneaker, sending it off in the other direction.

She nodded, eyeing the poor airline employee trying to corral the crabs with a large plastic bin. Bobbi shifted her weight experimentally and her knee protested again. Dammit. Lying on the beach all day reading was one thing, evading an army of crabs to claim her suitcase was on a whole different level. Still, it was the only option she had. She sighed and reached back to twist her hair up, fruitlessly trying to catch a cool breeze. The sooner she did this, the sooner she’d be in an airconditioned hotel room with a margarita (and an ice pack).

Beside her, Hunter rocked back on his heels. “I’ll make you a deal.”

“What?” Bobbi turned to him, startled.

“I’ll extricate your luggage if you tell me your name.”

“Excuse me?”

The corners of his eyes crinkled in a way she was definitely not going to call adorable as his smile widened. “Otherwise it’ll haunt me forever.”

Bobbi rolled her eyes and fought a smile of her own. “Fine, but bag first.”

“You drive a hard bargain, love,” He put his hands on his hips and surveyed the conveyor belt, where her bag was on its second trip around. “I’ll be right back.”

He took off through the crowd, deftly winding his way through the people and the occasional crab, as graceful as anything. She tipped her head to one side, her gaze lingering on his ass as he pirouetted away from a particularly irritated crustacean. The brochures had been right, the views here were amazing.

Hunter paused in front of the carousel to wait for her bag and gently prodded at a nearby crab with the toe of his shoe, helping flip it upright so it could scurry away, and she let out a long, slow breath. Oh boy, nope, she was not falling for this nice guy routine. The last thing she needed in her life was another complication.

May’s words about shifting priorities and career paths were still echoing in her ears. The FBI took care of their own, but the physical for field agents was non-negotiable. The suggestion that she take a post at the Academy had cut deeply. She was being put out to pasture just when she should be hitting her stride, all because some asshole on the multi-agency drug task force had an itchy trigger finger and terrible aim. Friendly fire her ass. He’d gotten a slap on the wrist and remedial firearms training while she’d had her whole world upended. She was good at her job, but the Bureau had a thousand other agents with two working knees to take her place. They didn’t need her, and the realization stung.

Her bag rotated into view and Hunter managed to snag a handle, jiggling it enough to dislodge the passengers. One crab stubbornly hung on as he stepped away, still shaking as it climbed up toward his arm. She inhaled sharply, about to call out a warning, when he stopped, lowered the bag to the floor, and rotated it to grab the other handle while the crab poked at the airport carpeting. It seemed to like what it found, and scuttled off, presumably in search of its buddies.

Lifting the bag up over his head victoriously, Hunter headed back toward her with a proud smile on his face. “Milady,” he said, setting the suitcase at her feet with a flourish.

She covered her smile with one hand, but it was too late, he’d definitely seen it. “Bobbi,” she conceded. He lifted an eyebrow. “Short for Barbara, but only my mother calls me that.” She did owe him, after all. A couple of ibuprofen and she’d be in good enough shape to lounge by the pool instead of spending her afternoon cooped up in her hotel room elevating her knee.

“Bobbi,” he said, the name rolling off his tongue like he was savoring it. A shiver raced up her spine.

“Thank you,” she said, and meant it. She picked up her bag. “I, um, it was nice to meet you.” She braced herself for some cheesy line, but he only nodded, his whisky-brown eyes searching her face.

“Likewise,” he said. “And just for the record, I was here to drop off a mate. College girls aren’t really my style.” He gave her that smile again, the one that promised an adventure. “I hope I’ll see you around, Bobbi.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Steamed Blue Crabs ](https://www.allrecipes.com/recipe/178366/steamed-blue-crabs/)


	3. Crab Cakes

Ice rattled in the mixer as Hunter shook it thoroughly. The American man with a sunburn and expensive watch had asked for a dry martini, shaken not stirred. Hunter had plastered on a smile since tourists brought in the money that kept Mack’s Place open but had made a regular martini. In his experience, not many people actually liked a proper dry one.

Hunter poured the drink and the guy passed him a twenty, telling him to keep the change. The tourist smiled as he took a sip and nodded at Hunter before returning to where his buddy sat, their chairs positioned to watch the gaggle of coeds munched on chips while giggling and texting.

When had they gotten so bloody young?

Transaction over, Hunter went back to wiping down the bar’s surface. That bird at the airport had pegged him all wrong, not that he’d minded at the time. Bobbi had woken up something in him that had been asleep long enough that he’d thought it’d died, and he’d found himself wanting to be the kind of guy that made her smile. The kind that charmed her.

He especially liked that she hadn’t wanted to be charmed.

Hunter sang to himself, an Eagles song because Bobbi had certainly been terminally pretty. He wasn’t much for singing, in fact, after the first time Elena had goaded him on stage and he’d sung  _ Love Will Tear Us Apart _ , Hunter had been sure Mack deliberately scheduled Hunter’s days off to coincide with karaoke night.

“Table six wants another round of beers,” Elena said as she brushed by on the way to the kitchen.

Hunter grabbed four pints and started to pour. He’d just set the last glass down on a tray when a new customer walked in and pulled the sunglasses off her face.

His heart nearly stopped. Hunter had resigned himself to not seeing her ever again, thinking she’d head for one of Key West’s big beachside hotels that swallowed tourists and didn’t spit them out until they headed home. But there she stood, glancing around the interior of the bar. Hunter loved the place, with the stuffed swordfish handing over the bar, the white wicker furniture that squeaked, and the glass fishing buoys that’d washed up over the years. One side opened onto a patio that faced the beach.

Bobbi’s eyes lingered on the scene, the ocean calm and glowing orange with sunset.

Then she turned and saw him. Her brows shot up for a second before she schooled her face into a flat expression. She made her way to the bar, favoring her knee. Not obviously, but he’d spent a lot of time either hiding his own injuries to keep from being pulled off a mission, or watching other men try to hide theirs for the same reason.

“Welcome to Crab Key,” he said, unable to keep himself from smiling. “What brings you to this corner of the world?”

“Of course you’re here,” Bobbi said, crossing her arms. “I’ve ended up here—” She waved a hand, indicating the interior of the bar. “Because my hotel managed to overbook itself and I found a last-minute deal on a cottage, which is cute but has zero food. The one tiny store on this island is closed and if I wanted to eat tonight, I had to come here.” She swayed slightly, as if too tired to stay upright long.

Hunter pointed at one of the stools at the bar. “Sit, I’ll get you fed.”

“I think I’m supposed to order? Isn’t that how these types of places usually work?” She still sat, a barely perceptible wince flashing across her face as she did so.

Drink first, Hunter decided. “Trust me,” he said. “I’ve been in the Conch Republic for a while, I’ve got you.” He hoped she’d let him serve her, Bobbi lit up the bar in a way that even the tropical sunlight couldn’t. He didn’t remember the last time someone had seemed so interesting.

A part of him wished she’d be interested in him too, but it was most likely better if he tossed that idea right in the bin. Nobody needed to deal with all his lingering weirdness, from hearing orders shouted at him out of thin air to waking up from nightmares at least once a night. He’d keep all that to himself, thank you very much.

However, Bobbi looked like she could use the ego boost of someone flirting with her. It was a dirty job, but someone had to do it.

Hunter could think of several dirty jobs he would like to do with her.

He turned towards the shelves of liquor to hide his suddenly hot face. Did his libido need to show up right this second?

The ingredients for one of his signature drinks seemed to fall into his hands and he concentrated on mixing the drink for her.

“Why all the random license plates?” she asked as he worked. They were plastered around the bar, stuck to walls, the backs of booths, and even the ceiling. Ones from Mexico mixed in with ones from most of the eastern states. One, posted right beside the register, came from Nova Scotia.

Hunter set a violently green drink down in front of Bobbi. “Key Lime Pie Martini. Made with real key limes. There’s not that many anymore, most places just use ones flown in, but on Crab Key, the trees grow everywhere.” Bobbi ran her finger around the rim of the glass, and he followed the movement of her unpainted fingernail. “As for the plates, they’re all things that washed up here or were caught in fishnets. A few were cut out of tiger sharks.”

“Ew.” She raised the glass and drank half of it in one go. A smile curved her lips up as she set the glass down. He waited for the verdict. “Okay, that’s good. Very good.” He hoped it would help with whatever made her wince.

Elena breezed by, the beers from earlier having been served. She raised a brow and nodded towards the other end of the bar. Hunter sauntered down and leaned against it. “I’m serving her, can you put in an order for crab cakes with Mack?”

“I will.” Her eyes darted back to Bobbi. “She’s pretty.”

“Don’t try to play matchmaker.” Hunter had been at the receiving end of Elena’s attempts to set him up too many times to count now. He knew she wanted him to climb out of the hole he’d ended up in, but he doubted a roll in the hay with a tourist, even one as gorgeous as Bobbi, would fix anything.

Damn, he might not be able to turn it down if she offered.

It was a good thing she seemed less interested in him than the crabs at the airport.

“Fine, I won’t try to encourage you towards the woman you’re drooling over. Be that way. I need two long island ice teas for table nine.” She flicked her long ponytail back as she headed for the pass-through. Hunter sighed. Elena wasn’t angry with him, the look on her face had been resignation.

Damn it, why did everyone want him to do more? He’d washed up here like one of the license plates on the wall.

“Everything alright?” Bobbi asked, her glass now empty.

He gave her a smile. “It’s fine, love. My boss just busting my balls a little. I’m used to it.” With a wink, he went to work on the teas. From the corner of his eye, he watched Bobbi as she yawned and leaned her arms on the bar. Her face was turned in his direction, but he didn’t know what she was looking at. “Is your part of the world colder this time of year?” he asked as he set the drinks on a try that Elena materialized from somewhere to pick up.

Bobbi, tilted her head to look out towards the ocean, which was mostly dark now. “Yeah,” she said softly.

“Crab cakes,” Elena said, settling a plate in front of Bobbi before disappearing again.

Bobbi snorted, then put a hand over her mouth as she laughed.

“Figured a little payback was in order after this morning.” Hunter shrugged and leaned against the edge of the liquor shelves.

Bobbi shrugged back and picked up her fork. She cut off a bite and Hunter gave up on not watching intently as she wrapped her lips around the fork. Her head tilted back as she moaned. Somehow, he managed not to whimper.

“That is so good,” she said, cutting off another bite. “I have been missing out.”

“You should try the hogfish tomorrow for lunch. We have someone who delivers fresh-caught.” Please come back tomorrow, he wanted to say. He couldn’t imagine Bobbi taking all the light with her and never bringing it back. It’d been dark in his world long enough.

She ate with gusto as Hunter made drink orders and occasionally checked in with her. He kept the banter light. Bobbi’s smile became slightly less guarded as the crab cakes disappeared and she downed the margarita he put in front of her. Very few people could resist his margaritas.

She paid, sliding him a debit card, and he conveniently forgot to charge her for the martini. Elena wouldn’t begrudge him the drink, as long as he didn’t down it himself.

“I guess I better turn in for the night.” Bobbi’s gaze checked the mirror that backed the bar. Hunter had noticed her doing it regularly throughout the night as if she couldn’t help herself. It’d made him wonder exactly how she’d been injured because he did the same thing, quick glances to check the entrances and make sure there was still the same number of people in the dining room as there had been a minute ago.

He’d bet good money Bobbi didn’t make a living selling real estate.

“Hey,” he said, coming around the bar as she stood. “I know you weren’t expecting to be here in the sticks instead of some posh hotel, but I’m glad you’re here.”

Hunter meant to shake her hand again, a warm, friendly gesture to put her at ease and let her know he looked forward to seeing her later. He reached out as Bobbi took a step forward but she stumbled, the toe of her natty sneaker catching on a floorboard. She floundered, trying to catch herself on her other leg, but it gave out.

He rushed forward, his arms wrapping around Bobbi and tugging her against him to keep her upright. She squeaked as all of her—warm, soft, perfectly shaped—body molded against his.

“I got you,” he whispered into her ear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Crab Cakes](https://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/ina-garten/crab-cakes-recipe-1945060)


	4. Blue Crab Dip

Heat flooded Bobbi’s cheeks.

Mortification battled with her desire to stay right where she was. Hunter held her tight, firmly pressed against the length of his body. His hands, surprisingly, did not wander. On the surface, he smelled of lime juice and salt, but underneath was a deep, musky scent that woke up parts of her that should really know better. Her libido had a terrible sense of timing. Rehab had been exhausting enough without the added stress of her stringent one-night stand protocol, and even if she were ready to dive back in, Hunter wasn’t an option. No bartenders was just a common sense guideline, and the no novelty shirts rule was borne of experience.

Her arms had somehow ended up looped around his neck, and she wasn’t doing nearly as good a job keeping her hands from straying as he had. His shoulders were strong and well-defined in a way that surprised her. Those weren’t from bartending. Maybe he surfed? The image of Hunter emerging from the ocean, water streaming down his chest, did absolutely nothing to tamp down her lust.

“I’m fine,” she said stiffly, preparing to push him away. “I’m not drunk.”

“I know,” he murmured. “Take your time.”

Bobbi let herself sag against him for a heartbeat, then two, before she gathered herself and pulled back. He didn’t let go. His hands gripped on her hips, steadying her, while he watched her face. Carefully, she shifted her weight onto her bad knee, letting out a breath as it held. Between the flight, the crabs, and the mix-up at her former hotel, she’d pushed it hard today, and it wasn’t happy.

“I’ve been telling Mack that board’s a problem,” Hunter grumbled.

“Thanks.” She reluctantly dropped her hands as he did the same. “Again.” Dammit, she really needed to stop tripping over her own two feet into his arms. It was fast becoming much, much too enjoyable.

“You’re staying at the Palmetto Cottage?” he asked.

Suspicion welled up inside her and Bobbi narrowed her eyes. “I never told you that.”

“You didn’t have to.” The grin he gave her bordered on smirk, and yet she still found it cute. She decided to blame the hint of dimples. At this rate, she was going to need ice for a lot more than her knee. “It’s a small island.”

Her mistrust popped like a soap bubble. “Right.” 

All the more reason not to give in to her urges to drag him into bed and see if she could make those dimples reappear. She wasn’t about to spend the next two weeks avoiding the one place—and one person—she actually liked. What had he said they were serving for lunch tomorrow, fresh fish? Add the killer margaritas, and she’d found the perfect place to spend her vacation. Hunter had turned out to be surprisingly good company, and he seemed to have forgiven her snap judgment at the airport. Although whatever he claimed, she doubted he lacked for choice of bed partners.

On cue, a loud, raucous laughter went up across the room. A gaggle of girls in bright bikini tops and gauzy coverups were lifting shot glasses in the direction of a nearby table. Annoyance ticked at the back of Bobbi’s mind, but she refused to acknowledge it, distracting herself by taking a step to test her knee. Pain flared up, radiating along her thigh. Annoying, but bearable. It’d just be a slow walk back.

“I’m going to-” Bobbi began.

“I’m giving you a ride,” Hunter interrupted.

“Excuse me?” Bobbi’s heart stuttered in her chest even though he clearly hadn’t meant it as some kind of innuendo. No, it was even worse. He was trying to take care of her.

“Elena,” Hunter called.

The waitress sailed by with a tray of empty glasses, her long ponytail swinging. “Keys are in the usual spot.”

“Come on,” he said to Bobbi, and jerked his head toward the door of the bar.

“I don’t need any help,” she said, lifting her chin. If she’d been wearing heels, she’d be able to look down at him properly. And wasn’t that a nice mental image? Hunter beneath her, his head thrown back and his…nope, no getting distracted. She crossed her arms and glared.

“Consider it part of the service.”

“Buy one drink, the bartender comes free?” she asked dryly, her mouth running away with her before she could stop it. She clamped her lips shut and almost apologized, but amusement sparked in Hunter’s eyes and his grin just got wider. Shit, dimples again.

“Afraid I’m not that easy.”

He offered an arm like they were embarking on a stroll through the countryside and she almost laughed at the absurdity of it all. Stuck on an island a thousand miles from home on a vacation she didn’t want with a man apparently tailor-made to slide under her defenses.

Her knee twinged, and Bobbi swallowed her pride, reaching out to tuck her hand into the crook of his elbow. The sooner she got back to her cottage, the sooner she could elevate her knee. If she was careful, she might even be able to walk down to the beach tomorrow. In a reckless bit of pre-vacation spending, she brought almost enough bikinis to wear a different one every day. She’d been so sick of hobbling around her house in sweatpants and old tees, she’d even begun to miss wearing her boring old black suits. Not that she’d need them if they shunted her off to the academy.

Taking that assignment was as good as announcing her retirement. She hated the way everyone’s voice softened when they mentioned it, like they were doing her a kindness instead of banishing her from the place she’d fought so hard to get to. One moment, one…incident (she refused to call it an accident, no matter how many times that word had appeared in the after-action report) had effectively ended her career, even though she’d done everything right. She was a liability now.

It hurt worse than a bullet to the knee. 

The voices from the bar faded as they stepped outside, a faint breeze lifting the loose strands of her hair. The stars twinkled overhead, brighter than they’d ever been in D.C.

“Your chariot awaits,” Hunter said solemnly, gesturing at a nearby golf cart, and Bobbi let out an involuntary snort.

“Thank you,” she amended, sliding into the passenger seat.

Hunter took a seat behind the wheel and reached for the key in the ignition. “Not a problem.”

“That’s the usual spot?” she asked, surprised.

“What’s someone going to do, joyride straight into the ocean?” Hunter grinned and started the cart, flicking on a pair of dim headlights. The electric motor purred softly as he steered them onto the street.

The whole island was strangely silent. No traffic noises or car engines, no music thumping through shared walls or the distant wail of sirens. There was just the sound of tires on asphalt and the palm fronds rustling in the wind as they sped past. Her shoulders relaxed.

“I can see why you like it out here,” she said, gazing out at the water. It glistened in the moonlight, the waves catching what little light there was and reflecting it back tenfold.

“It’s a nice little getaway,” Hunter said, steering the cart down the road to her cottage.

“What are you getting away from?” Bobbi turned in time to catch the grimace flickering across his face and immediately regretted the question. Her mouth kept running away with her. “Sorry, none of my business.”

They stopped in front of her cottage and he turned off the engine. She could hear the waves crashing and retreating, and a cicada chorus started from the overgrown bougainvillea in the front yard. The air was scented with salt and sweetness, a little like the man sitting next to her, but without the undercurrent that lit a fire inside her. Beneath his loud shirts and hokey lines, there was a glimmer of something else, something she couldn’t seem to stop poking at.

She slid out of the cart carefully, making sure to rely on her good knee, and fumbled for the key to the front door. The lock had been rusty with disuse, but it worked, thank god. Maybe no one else locked their doors around here, but she would never be that trusting.

“Um, thanks for the ride.” She attempted a smile. “And… everything.”

“Bob,” Hunter said, slinging his arm across the seatbacks and leaning toward her.

She paused, secretly pleased at the nickname. It’d been a long time since she’d been anything but Agent. “Yeah?”

“I’ll make you a deal.”

That hadn’t been what she expected. Everything about him was unexpected. “You make a lot of deals.”

“You haven’t asked for my soul yet, so I figure I’m safe.” His teeth flashed white in the shadows under the cart canopy, and she wished she could see if those dimples were back.

She huffed out a laugh. Their last deal had worked out pretty well for her, all things considered. “What’s the deal?”

“You free tomorrow?”

“I’m on vacation, so yes,” she said warily.

“Let me show you around a bit, and I’ll answer your question.”

Bobbi opened her mouth to say no, but nothing came out. The key to her cottage dug into her palm, and the palm trees swayed overhead. Two weeks was a long time to spend with just her thoughts. It might be nice to talk about someone else’s problems for a change.

“Sure,” she said before she could change her mind.

“Yeah?” He sounded as surprised as she was.

“Yes,” she said firmly.

“Then I’ll see you in the morning.”

Her stomach fluttered, the traitor. “You will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Blue Crab Dip ](https://www.myrecipes.com/recipe/blue-crab-dip)


	5. Hot Crab Pinwheels

Missed opportunities niggled at the back of Hunter’s mind as he stood on the front porch of his tiny cottage. He could hear the waves lapping at the shore. The light from a waxing moon reflected off the white peaks, leaving most of the water a dark shadow.

He couldn’t even say what those opportunities had been, but he knew he must have missed them. Maybe he could have gone to uni, fallen in love, be teaching history somewhere in Cornwall right now. Or be on a West End stage, belting his heart out every night, though that would have meant him learning how to carry a tune.

Most of his thoughts were occupied by Bobbi, who didn’t feel like a missed anything, not yet. That could wait until she flew back to wherever she came from. He swirled the liquid in his glass, making the ice clink. It was just cranberry juice, he’d had enough to drink earlier and he didn’t want to rely on booze to put him to sleep. He stood shirtless on his back porch, where the only noises were the ocean and the rustle of palm fronds in the breeze.

He usually adored having only the ocean for company, but tonight, he felt lonely. He missed Fitz, even though his mate had only been here for a week. Or maybe it was being around Bobbi, who was not only attractive but a mystery he wanted to…not solve, that’d take several lifetimes. Explore? Could you explore a mystery?

Being alone in the dark perversely reminded him of the nights he’d been posted to fire watch in his barracks. He could smell the sawdust scent of—

Hunter cut those thoughts off quickly. For every good memory, there was a not so good one. He loved the army. He hated it. He didn’t know who he’d be if he hadn’t joined, and he sometimes didn’t know the person it’d made him into.

His mobile buzzed and the screen lit up, barely illuminating the small table it rested on. Hunter dropped into a well-worn deck chair, ignoring the creak he knew he needed to fix but somehow always ended up putting off to tomorrow. He set his glass down and grabbed his mobile, expecting a message from Fitz, who should have made it back to London by now. Hunter attempted to do the math for the time difference but only came up with the vague idea it had to be early morning there.

He’d love a pasty from the bakery a block over from the block of flats he’d grown up in, but that place had shut up shop more than a decade ago.

Sighing, Hunter swiped at the message. It was from Jemma, not Fitz, and was a blurry selfie of a rumpled looking Jemma grinning at the camera, her head resting on the bare shoulder of a fast-asleep Fitz.  _ Thank you! _ The message read.  _ I invited myself up. _

Hunter grinned at the screen. Good on those two dorks. He sent her back a smiley face and a thumbs up, then placed the mobile face down on the table and leaned back in his chair.

He liked knowing that somebody was happy.

#

Bloody, fucking HELL.

Hunter jolted awake, his neck aching. He’d fallen asleep in the blasted chair again.

Morning was in full swing, the sky a cloudless blue over a shimmering sea.

Grumbling, he popped his neck and stumbled inside to change from tatty jeans to swim trunks. Had he ever been young enough to find a brisk morning run with a fifty-pound pack invigorating?

He put a kettle on with a timer, grabbed a towel, and trotted down the sand to the water. It washed cool against his toes, and he inhaled deeply before splashing out past the small waves. He floated on his back, letting himself be only mindful of the sun on his skin, the soft motion of the water, and how it dulled any noise, the scent of the briny sea air, and how his body felt stiff from sleeping in his deck chair.

He took a moment, recommended by his therapist, to be grateful that he had Crab Key to focus on. Being present in the moment in some cramped flat with the neighbors tromping about and nothing but car horns and exhaust fumes wouldn’t be nearly so fun. He’d washed out, and then washed up here, and things could be a lot worse.

Hunter rolled in the water and took off, kicking his legs and plowing into a front crawl. Kick, reach, breathe. Kick, reach, breathe. He pushed himself, catching sight of Mack’s Place during a breath, but not stopping until he was further down the shore.

Hunter paused, righting himself to catch his breath and wipe the saltwater from his face. He glanced towards the shore. Of course he’d stopped right in front of the cottage Bobbi’d rented. And of course she was lying in the sun with only a bright blue two-piece on. He should really go back the way he’d come, not bother her while she was enjoying herself on vacation.

_ Missed opportunities _ .

_ I invited myself up. _

His feet decided for him, pushing him towards the shore.

Bobbi’s head raised. She pushed her sunglasses on to her forehead and propped herself on her elbows as he walked out the waves. Hunter stopped to sluice water from his hair, before crossing the sand.

“Morning, love,” he said, plopping himself on the sand beside her.

Bobbi blinked. “Hunter?”

“I swim in the mornings,” he said. “Usually a bit earlier. Did you see any dolphins? They show up around dawn.”

She shook her head, making all her golden hair, which looked even brighter in the sun, flick back and forth.

“How’s your leg today?”

Bobbi flexed it and grimaced. A thin pink scar puckered the top in a vertical line. “Not great. I overdid it yesterday, but luckily I don’t have anything besides ‘beach’ planned for today.”

She stretched out on her towel again, and Hunter couldn’t help seeing exactly how the bikini top did a horrible job of concealing the tight buds of her nipples. Wait…had they been like that before? She shifted herself on the towel while scowling at him, her thighs brushing against each other.

Hunter’s jaw clenched as his cock forgot it’d just been doused in cold seawater.

“Breakfast?” he asked.

Bobbi flicked her sunglasses back into place. “Is a meal, usually eaten in the morning.”

“As in have you had breakfast?” He bent his knee up while mentally giving his body an order to stand down. His mind missed the memo because it eagerly supplied images of him tugging at the tie of Bobbi’s bikini bottoms with his teeth.

Bobbi lay silent for a moment, then tilted her face towards him. “Do you have coffee?”

“The instant stuff, but yeah. I’ve got the kettle on at my place, I’ll be right back with a mug.”

She gifted him with a smile and Hunter felt like the conquering hero as he pushed himself to his feet and padded down the beach towards Mack’s Place. He looked back once to find Bobbi sitting up with her sunglasses raised again, watching him. She immediately dropped flat and he grinned at her, letting her know he absolutely knew she’d been watching his arse in his wet swim shorts.

He felt much less like a perv for appreciating her in her bikini now, if by appreciating her he meant the cockstand he was working on. At Mack’s, he claimed the golf cart and hurried to his house, pushing the little ten horsepower engine as much as he dared. Thankfully, he didn’t run into anyone.

Hunter sprinted into his cottage and slammed the door behind him, panting while looking down at the traitor in his shorts.

Seriously, his libido hadn’t been very urgent since he’d started taking meds for the PTSD, but a few minutes beside a hot blonde with an attitude and he had zero control.

A hot blonde with gorgeous thighs and hips that looked made to grab onto.

His prick throbbed.

“Fine,” he snapped at it, stalking to his bathroom and grabbing lube from his medicine cabinet. He peeled his still damp trunks off—nothing ever dried in the humidity here—and tossed them into the tub to deal with later.

He fisted himself with a groan.

For a heartbeat he pretended he wasn’t going to think about—smooth skin, a scar, hard nipples against blue fabric—Bobbi, but he quickly gave up and returned to his fantasy of taking her bikini bottoms off with his teeth. He imagined crisp blonde hair between her legs, and soft folds topped with a swollen clit that begged to be tasted.

He’d lick her and lick her and lick her and—

Hunter grunted, spurting his release into the sink.

The satisfaction of release didn’t last long. Shame crept in and he avoided looking at himself in the mirror while he cleaned up. He managed to find a laundered pair of jeans with holes only in the knees, and a Hawaiian shirt with a classic car print. His wardrobe had descended into island chic at some point, but if Bobbi didn’t like it, she could tell him.

She wouldn’t like what he’d done while thinking about her.

It simply wouldn’t happen again. He’d dealt with the problem and his sex drive would probably remain in neutral for a couple of days now. It wasn’t as if he was some randy teenager with his first crush. Hunter had been a grown adult for a while now, he wanted to spend some time with an attractive woman and get to know her. It didn’t need to lead anywhere, nor was it unhealthy to wank, as long as he kept fantasy-Bobbi and real-Bobbi separate. Sharing conversation with someone new would be good for him, his therapist would be pleased, and her only being here for a while put a limit on how close they could get. He wouldn’t want to inflict himself long term on anybody.

Like the squeak in the chair, there were a lot of things he kept putting off until a someday that never came.

The clutter in his house for one. It wasn’t messy, exactly, but a box of books from Elena sat in one corner, worn-out clothes he meant to trash were in a bag by the door, empty crates in the living room he’d give to Trip for his local brewery any day now. He knew the lack of neatness had to do with the pristine order he’d been required to keep in the military, even if it wasn’t a conscious decision to not throw away the junk mail on his counter.

Hunter filled two mugs with hot water, put lids on them, grabbed a tea bag and the instant coffee along with the individual packages of sugar and powdered creamer he used because the humidity and heat on the island didn’t play well with things kept in containers. And milk could be bloody expensive.

He stuffed his feet in flip flops and headed back to Bobbi’s place. He walked across the white sand to where she’d moved her towel into the shade of a large palm tree.

“Hey,” he called.

Bobbi braced herself on an elbow and twisted herself up, reaching out for a cup.

Her bikini top didn’t cooperate. One triangle of brilliant blue fabric wrenched itself to the side, revealing a lovely breast with a dusky nipple.

All the thoughts Hunter had been having about being a reasonable adult crashed to the ground.

His mouth opened and closed twice before he got a word out. “Tit.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Hot Crab Pinwheels ](https://www.tasteofhome.com/recipes/hot-crab-pinwheels)


	6. Caribbean Crab Cakes Benedict

Betrayed by her own damn bikini. Bobbi’s face flamed and she hastily reached up to cover her exposed breast with one hand. Hunter was totally going to think she did that on purpose, especially after he’d caught her checking out his butt.

His mouth hung open for a second but then, in a completely mystifying turn of events, he slammed his eyes shut. Bobbi blinked at him and sat up the rest of the way, adjusting her top so she was covered again. She glanced down at her chest and frowned. He’d been looking earlier, and he definitely hadn’t hated it (thank you, swim trunks) so why the hell wasn’t he enjoying the free, albeit unplanned, show? Of all the things she’d expected a bartender in the middle of paradise to be, a gentleman was at the very bottom of the list.

“Uh, I mean, coffee?” he asked, thrusting a mug in her general direction. She reached for it and took the opportunity to study his face. It was a nice face, which seemed a little unfair when paired with the rest of him. Couldn’t he have at least one major flaw, so she wasn’t constantly having to remind herself he was off-limits? The ridiculous shirt helped, but honestly, not enough. His eyelids were closed so tightly his nose was wrinkled, along with his brow, and the entire effect was oddly adorable on a grown man with a perpetual five o’clock shadow.

“I also brought some…hang on.” Hunter thrust a hand into the back pocket of his jeans, then the front, obviously searching for something, all while still refusing to open his eyes.

She was tempted to see how long he’d keep it up, especially when it meant she could ogle the swaths of tan thigh visible through his torn jeans without being caught, but her better nature won out. “I’m decent.” Stupid sense of fairness.

Hunter peeked at her out of one eye, then opened both. “Cream,” he said, his hand still deep in his front pocket.

“Sorry, what?” Bobbi asked, suddenly wary. She leaned back, her hand digging into the sand. She couldn’t move as quickly as she used to, but there were other ways to ward off creeps. 

“And sugar!” he added hurriedly, yanking his hand out. Little white packets spilled across her lap, one sliding neatly into her cleavage, and Hunter froze, his eyes once again locked on her chest. “For the coffee,” he said, his voice hoarse.

Bobbi relaxed and plucked the packet of creamer out from between her breasts, a little ashamed she’d immediately thought the worst of him. Maybe May was right, and she had needed this vacation. Not that she was about to tell her boss that. “Um, thank you,” she said, trying to tamp down on the nervous laughter bubbling up her throat. “But I take it black. Do you need it?” She offered the packet back and he seemed to snap out of his daze.

“Ah, no.” Hastily averting his eyes, Hunter squinted at the crashing waves before plopping down next to her. Spots of color darkened his cheekbones, like a flash of boob was somehow out of the ordinary in the land of spring break.

She couldn’t quite figure him out, which was incredibly annoying. Most of the time she had someone pinned down after the first conversation. The sunlight caught in his hair, making the damp strands gleam. It was shorter than she would have expected a beach bum to have, sort of a neglected high and tight. The ends were just starting to curl, and she fought a sudden urge to wrap a strand around her finger to see if it was as soft as it looked.

“So, what are we doing today?” she asked, searching for a distraction.

He lifted one shoulder and took a sip of his drink. “Well, you’ve seen the beach,” he mused.

“I have.” And thank god she’d decided to hit it early. She wondered if he swam every morning, and if he’d think it was weird she was out sunbathing the moment the sun was up for the rest of her trip so she could catch the show. 

“How about we go get lunch?”

“It’s 9 am.”

He shot her an amused smile, dimples flashing, and her insides flip-flopped, damn them. “No, I mean, let’s go get what’ll be served for lunch.”

Bobbi tossed back the rest of her coffee. It wasn’t half-bad, for being instant. At least it was hot and caffeinated. “Just so you know, I hate fishing.”

His grin widened. “Me too.”

#

A breeze lifted the hair away from Bobbi’s face, and she tugged her skirt down in a vain attempt to cover the ugly new scar on her knee. Hunter steered the golf cart along yet another picturesque street and she gave up, tipping her head back to enjoy the sunshine. If it was one thing she didn’t miss, it was grey skies and sleet.

They stopped in front of a weathered wooden building that had once been painted bright blue with green and yellow trim. The front door was wide open and a cluster of wind chimes made of shells hung from the eaves on either side of it. The string used to hold them together was as bright as the building’s paint job and they clinked softly. She made a mental note of the postcard rack by the door, a showcase of white sandy beaches and blue water. She had been practically ordered to take a vacation, after all. Maybe she should rub it in a little.

She followed Hunter inside, pulling off her sunglasses and spinning in a slow circle to take in the walls. They were absolutely covered in artwork. Paintings, sculptures, old signs and metalwork were scattered among shelves of knickknacks made of driftwood and shells. There was blown glass in one corner, and even things hanging from old fishing nets stretched across the ceiling. It might have felt claustrophobic if it weren’t for the fact that the back wall was practically nonexistent. A large steel door had been rolled up, letting the sunlight spill into the interior and treating them all to a picturesque view of the ocean, only steps away. A dock stretched out into the turquoise waters with a large boat moored at the other end. 

“Hunter!” a girl behind the counter exclaimed. Her dark hair was piled on top of her head in a messy bun, and she was wearing a hot pink tank top that set off her tan skin.

“Hey, Dais.” He nodded at her. “We’re just picking up the order for Mack’s.”

“Dad should have everything ready out back.” Daisy set down whatever she was working on and turned a smile on Bobbi. “Another friend?”

“You don’t have to sound so surprised,” Hunter said. “I do have them, you know. Daisy, this is Bobbi.”

She waved a hand dismissively. “We don’t count, you’re stuck with us. That’s two friends in two weeks!”

“It is, huh?” Bobbi crossed her arms, trying to squash her disappointment. Apparently the ‘personal tour’ was a regular thing with him.

“How’s Fitz?” Daisy asked, rounding the counter and heading for the rear door.

“He got home fine,” Hunter said. “That’s the mate I dropped off at the airport,” he said more quietly to Bobbi. She nodded, refusing to acknowledge the way the tension drained out of her shoulders. “Guess who picked him up at Heathrow,” he said, louder this time, as they followed Daisy.

Daisy gasped, spinning around and clasping her hands together. “Please tell me it was Jemma.”

Bobbi put her sunglasses back on and eyed the three uneven concrete steps leading outside, gauging the best way to tackle them. She shifted her weight into her bad knee, preparing for the first step, when Hunter paused at the bottom and reached up, offering his hand. The gesture was so natural she accepted the help almost before she’d thought about it, her fingers curling around his hand so their palms were nestled together. His arm was steady, his grip strong, and her knee barely protested as she stepped down.

“Of course it was Jemma,” Hunter replied, his eyes on Bobbi. His thumb swept across the back of her hand, leaving tingles in its wake before he released her. She willed herself not to blush. She was so not allowed to develop a crush on a bartender in Key West. Talk about a cliché.

“And?” Daisy asked eagerly.

“She invited herself up,” Hunter smirked. “Got photographic proof last night.”

“Yes!” Daisy squealed. “I knew it! She was texting him, like, the whole time he was here.” She stopped and put her hands on her hips, looking around. A low-slung concrete outbuilding and several coolers took up most of the space. “Dad!” she called.

“Garage!” a distant voice replied.

“Lola?” Hunter asked.

“As always,” Daisy laughed. “Dad, Hunter’s here for the shrimp!”

“Hang on!” the man called.

“Lola is-” Hunter began, turning to Bobbi, but before he could get any further a loud bang reverberated through the air, the sound ricocheting off the concrete building and echoing through Bobbi’s skull. The waves went silent. All she could hear was ringing in her ears and the pounding of her own heart. Her knee throbbed, but she had to move, they all had to move.

She wasn’t making the same mistake twice. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Caribbean Crab Cakes Benedict](https://www.myrecipes.com/recipe/caribbean-crab-cakes-benedict)


	7. Cruisin' Crab Dip

Goosebumps race across Hunter’s skin and his teeth grit at Lola’s backfiring.

Beside him, Bobbi yelled something before tackling him. He went down hard, most of the wind knocked from his lungs as she shielded his body with her own.

She pinned him to the ground while her hands shook and her breath rasped in her throat.

“Bob—” he tried to sit up, wondering what, exactly, had just happened.

“Stay down,” she snapped, her neck craning as she intently scanned their surroundings. 

He did, but wrapped an arm around her shoulders and rubbed her back with the other. Judging from the scar on her knee—he knew a bullet wound when he saw one, he had a few himself—she’d been through something recently. That he knew how to help with.

“It’s okay, luv,” he murmured. “You’re here on the island. No guns for miles. You’re safe, we’re outside Phil’s shop getting shrimp. You’re safe. It was just a car backfiring. I’m safe too. Thank you for making sure.” Hunter didn’t stop talking, even as Bobbi’s stunning blue eyes settled on his face. 

He felt absurdly grateful for having wanked earlier, because having all of Bobbi resting on top of him, from the soft swell of her breasts to the strong thighs holding his legs flat would have otherwise rendered him mute. She felt good, right, as if she belonged in his arms.

Abruptly she scrambled off him, ending up on her rear, her dress not hiding much from his excellent vantage point. Her knickers were white and lacy. “Sorry,” she said, dropping her head into her hands as her cheeks turned bright red. “I am so sorry. Did I hurt you?”

“I’m right as rain.” He sat up, waving away a concerned Daisy. “And don’t be sorry, you acted on instinct, good instinct. I’d trust you to watch my six anytime.” He scooted over to sit next to her. “And it gets easier to manage.”

“What gets easier?” She dropped her hands and smoothed down her skirt.

“Things.” Not better, PTSD wasn’t something you woke up one day and it’d tossed itself in the rubbish bin, never to be heard from again, but it did get to be more tolerable, and an expectation rather than a surprise.

“Oh.” Bobbi eyed him warily.

“I know what I’m talking about. I think you missed this with everything else you were checking out earlier.” He yanked the back of his shirt up and twisted so she could see the SAS tattoo on his shoulder blade. He liked having it, a mark to show what he carried around inside.

A fingertip stroked down the body of the dagger. “You’re a badass.”

Hunter shrugged and dropped his shirt. “More like I was.” He smoothed wrinkles out of the fabric, trying not to wonder if he could still take out an armed opponent as fast as he once had.

“He still makes badass margaritas,” Daisy said, a bucket in her hands. She struggled with it, and Hunter popped to his feet to take it from her. Phil appeared behind her, another bucket in his hands.

“Sorry about the backfire,” he said. “I swear I’m going to have her purring like a kitten any day now.”

Hunter set the sloshing bucket of still live shrimp down and held out his hand to Bobbi. She’d been inspecting the side of the building like she might need to crawl over to it to get back on her feet.

She smiled ruefully as she took his hand, and only winced a little as he pulled her up. Hunter didn’t let go as she attempted to settle weight on her bad knee.

“I told you to let Fitz have a look at it,” Hunter said to Phil. “It’d probably be flying now if he had.”

Phil shrugged. “She’s my baby, I’ll look after her.”

“He doesn’t want anyone to touch her,” Daisy stage-whispered to Bobbi, who laughed and rolled her eyes.

“She’s very sensitive,” Phil sniffed.

Hunter only shook his head. It must have cost a fortune to have Lola shipped to the island, and even more to get her restored. Phil never seemed to worry that he couldn’t get her running quite right. Hunter suspected he just liked being in his garage puttering around. He’d skipper for Daisy on the fishing boat early in the morning, then tinker with Lola. Not a bad life.

Phil continued. “And I don’t need some over-trained engineer poking at her insides.”

“I’m telling Mack that.” Hunter lifted the shrimp bucket and took the second one from Phil. Mack had been an engineer at some point, long before marrying Elena and opening the restaurant.

“Don’t you dare.” Phil frowned and tugged at the front of his shirt, which wasn’t much different from what Hunter was wearing. “Or he’ll tell me there’s nothing for dinner but kale salad for a week.”

Hunter laughed. “Our secret, then. Let’s get these shrimpies back to the restaurant before Elena thinks I fell into the ocean.”

Bobbi limped ahead of him to the golf cart, her shoulders rigid. He hefted the buckets into the back and waited until Bobbi had gotten herself into the cart before sliding behind the wheel. He hated seeing her hurting, in all kinds of ways, on what was supposed to be her vacation. She probably hated that he knew how much she hurt.

The golf cart hummed as he drove slowly through the little village. Tourists were appearing, some heading to the post office with cards clutched in their hands, and some browsing the tiny market with its fresh produce and dusty cans of baked beans.

At Mack’s Place, he parked the cart and rushed around to help Bobbi out.

“Actually,” she said, not quite looking at him or his offered hand. “Would you mind driving me back to my place? I need to ice my knee.”

“What ice are you planning on using?”

Her expression turned annoyed and her lower lip crept out before she managed to relax into what was probably a professional mask. “I’ll make a tray.”

“Come on in,” he coaxed. “I’ve got the perfect place for you to sit, leg up, and lot and lots of ice. There’s a machine in there that does nothing else but make it.” She didn’t need to be alone and hurting.

Her eyes went to the door of the bar.

“I’ll even make you a brewed coffee. If you’re lucky, Elena will have flavored creamers.”

He saw the exact second he won. Bobbi sighed, flipped her shining golden hair that he dearly wanted to feel between his fingers over her shoulder, and took his hand. “So what’s going to happen with the shrimp?”

He was okay with being a distraction, but he kept her hand in his and put a steading palm on her back as she hobbled into Mack’s Place. Purely to help her, of course. Maybe, since he’d revealed his origins, he could discover a little more about her as well, but first, shrimp.

“Butterflied, coconut batter and frying for the big ones. You’ve got to taste the chile sauce Mack makes.” He licked his lips just thinking about it. “Smaller ones will go in salads, pasta, and tacos.”

He sat her near the patio door, which he opened to let in the sea breeze before nudging an ancient ottoman over for her to put her leg up. He nipped to the kitchen for a bag of ice. Mack stood at the stove, already at work, but he gave Hunter a wave.

“Lola backfired,” Hunter said as he filled a plastic bag with cubes.

“Damn it,” Mack said. “I told Phil not to start her without me.” There wasn’t any heat in his voice. “Now he’ll have to take apart…” Mack trailed off and heaved a huge sigh. “Here, taste this.” He held a wooden spoon coated in dark red sauce towards Hunter.

Hunter obediently scraped a finger through the chile sauce and sucked on it. The taste, sweet with a hint of spice, filled his mouth. “That’s perfect. Let me have a spoon for Bobbi.”

“Is that who the ice is for?”

“Her knee. She’s fine, no worries.” Hunter took the sauce covered teaspoon Mack held out.

“How about you?” Mack asked. “Elena said you were chatting with someone last night and now you’re playing nurse this morning?” His eyes narrowed. “Who is this woman? A tourist?”

Hunter rocked onto his heels, amused at Mack’s interrogation. “I never kiss and tell.” Mack rolled his eyes. “But since I haven’t kissed her and don’t seem about to start, yes, she’s a tourist. I think she’s here having a little holiday after something rough went down. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go do my best Florence Nightingale impersonation.”

Mack waved him off. Out in the dining room, he found Bobbi leaning back and watching the tourists on the beach. The white sand glinted under the sun, and the waves rolled in with barely a whisper as families and friends played in the water or sunned themselves. She looked wistful. Hunter wished he could snap his fingers and make everything better for her. Damn life not working like that.

“Here,” he said softly, holding out the spoon. “Best chile sauce on the island.”

“It’s not a very big island,” she said with a laugh, dutifully leaning forward to wrap her lips around the spoon. Her eyes went wide, and she moaned.

Hunter’s cock, which shouldn’t have noticed, twitched. Bloody hell.

Slowly, Bobbi let go of the spoon and sat back. “That’s amazing. I can’t wait for the shrimp part.”

He busied himself with putting the ice on her knee. “It’s good.”

“Thank you,” she said as he arranged the bag just right.

Hunter smiled before hurrying off to get the shrimp, hopefully before she noticed he was working on being very, very smitten.

****

Hunter pushed his plate away as Bobbi moaned through the last of her coconut shrimp.

He was starting to wonder if she’d ever eaten decent seafood before in her life.

The ice had turned to a bag of water a little while ago, and Bobbi was sitting upright in her chair now, looking much more comfortable.

“What’s your plan for the afternoon?” he asked.

She shifted on the wicker chair, making it squeak, and leaned forward.

“I’m with the Bureau,” she said, and he went very still. Talking was good. “There was an incident. A bullet. I keep…it’s always there. I wake up thinking about it and go to sleep thinking about it.”

“Must have been recent,” he murmured.

“My job was my life, and now…” She waved a hand. “I can’t…”

“I was a lifer,” he said to fill the silence. “I didn’t want promotions. I didn’t want out. And then I stopped sleeping. I thought I was going nuts, I’d hear voices calling me to attention in the middle of the night, yelling at me that we had a drop…and before I knew it I was out with a medical discharge. Post-traumatic stress disorder. It drove me spare, I couldn’t have it, there was never one incident, just a decade of awful that caught up to me when I wasn’t looking.”

The training would never leave, he knew how many people were on the beach, and how many could be potential threats, even though the real number of threats was zero. Part of him would never believe that.

“What did you do?” she asked.

“I ended up here, slinging drinks four nights a week and enjoying a sun I hardly saw after I turned eighteen. I think it started as hiding, but now it’s home.” The sincerity in his voice surprised even him. “I like the quiet, the ocean. Hurricane season is a pain in the rear. Phil has a place we ride them out in.” He took a drink of water.

The wistful look was back on Bobbi’s face. “You’re not anything like I thought you were.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment. And you’re a much better conversationalist than Fitz. If I have to hear the word Jemma again it’ll be far too soon.” He swiped his thumb through the condensation on the drinking glass. “I have a therapist. Nice bloke. Does Skype calls. I can give you his number.”

She nodded, but her gaze slipped away. “What do you recommend for afternoon activities?”

There were a lot of things he’d like to do with her, but she needed a friend, not someone pawing at her.

He touched her arm, sliding a finger over smooth skin. “You wanna see a shark?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Cruisin' Crab Dip ](https://www.myrecipes.com/recipe/cruisin-crab-dip)


	8. Blue Crab Beignets

_ I’m going to kill you. _

Bobbi hit send and then her stomach immediately dropped. Shit. That wasn’t the kind of thing to text to an almost-stranger you’d tackled to the ground earlier because of a car backfiring. No matter how understanding Hunter had been afterward, they weren’t friends, not really. They barely knew each other and now she was sending him death threats. What was she thinking? There’d be restraining orders and an internal investigation and May was going to absolutely…

Her phone beeped.

_ You’d miss my margaritas ; ) _

She let out a relieved laugh, then looked up guiltily, but Eric was still rummaging through his memorabilia, muttering to himself.

_ Did he get to the Koenig family video yet? _ Hunter messaged.

_ VIDEO????  _ Bobbi shot back.  _ This is payback for earlier, isn’t it? _

_ I promised sharks, I never said they’d be real ones. Thought you Feds always did your homework? _

She snorted softly.  _ I’m supposed to be on vacation. _

_ Then maybe you should relax and enjoy.  _ This was followed by entirely too many emojis for a communication from a grown man. A bright yellow sun, a little palm tree, a snorkel and mask, a shark, and a fancy drink with an umbrella. She could really use one of those right now.

_ You owe me a margarita when I get back.  _ She texted.

_ Gladly. _

Bobbi’s stomach did another loop-de-loop, this time for an entirely different reason. One with warm brown eyes and a smile that promised a thousand things she was finding it harder and harder to avoid imagining. He might not be the pretty, empty-headed flirt she’d immediately judged him to be, but that didn’t mean she could toss the rules out the window. Rules had served her well over the years, both in her personal life and her career.

Or they used to.

Shifting her weight absently to her good knee, she eyed the overstuffed sofa in a garish floral print on the other side of the room. Eric had waved at it earlier when he’d invited her in, but she’d declined the seat, thinking they wouldn’t be staying long. She regretted that now. The couch faced an enormous television and was surrounded by more wicker furniture than she’d ever seen in one place, though he clearly needed it. Every single surface was absolutely covered in memorabilia. Framed photos, figurines, knick-knacks and other items she could only guess were old movie props of some kind. The walls were full of ocean-themed movie posters and pictures of Eric with different celebrities.

“Aha!” Eric crowed, holding something up triumphantly. “Found it! Check this out.”

He plopped the item into Bobbi’s hand and she almost dropped it, startled. It was heavier than she expected, and larger, filling her entire palm. A fossilized shark tooth, he’d explained before he’d started hunting for it. She held it up, examining the jagged edges and the once-deadly tip, blunted by time.

“I hate to see the size of the rest of him,” she said.

Eric laughed like he couldn’t possibly have heard that joke a million times. Despite what she’d said to Hunter, she was kind of enjoying herself. Eric’s enthusiasm for sea life (well, mostly sharks) and ocean-related movie memorabilia (featuring sharks) was infectious.

“Don’t worry, modern-day sharks don’t come in that size.” He grinned at her. “At least, we hope so.”

“We definitely hope so.” Bobbi smiled back and took a step toward the sofa, trying not to wince. Eric’s gaze dropped to her knee and she wondered how much Hunter had told him when he’d called earlier. Or it could be the scar and the limp giving her away. She rolled her eyes at herself.

“Is that the shark from Jaws?” she asked, pointing at one of the photos on the wall. It was as much to distract herself as it was Eric. She didn’t think she could take another humiliating round of revealing just how weak her knee was.

“Bruce!” he exclaimed, heading in that direction. “Yeah, that’s him with my brother Sam, the lucky bastard.” He smiled fondly at the image of a man screaming with his head inside a huge shark’s mouth.

Bobbi blinked at the photo, and then Eric. She would have sworn it was him, and she’d been trained to notice minute differences. “Your brother?” she asked.

“Yep!” Eric pointed at another photo of him standing in front of a beach shack with some vaguely familiar actor. “And that’s Billy with Ian Ziering.” 

She must have looked confused because Eric gestured at the huge poster hung in the position of honor over his television. “You know, from Sharknado?”

“Um. Of course,” Bobbi replied, sinking gratefully down onto the couch and stretching her leg out.

“Hey, want to see the cameo video before we head out?” Eric asked. He glanced outside. “We’ve still got plenty of daylight left.”

“I’d love to.” Ah, the famed video. At least she’d be able to tell Hunter she’d seen it. Talking to him was surprisingly easy. A little too easy. She’d spilled some things earlier she hadn’t meant to, but he’d taken it all in stride. Maybe nothing was shocking after what he’d been through. And he’d managed to find a little peace, in this quiet corner of paradise. If she was lucky, she might eventually find some too.

Right now, home, with its heavy grey skies and slushy snow, not to mention the relentless traffic, didn’t appeal in the slightest. When she got back, she’d have to make a decision: either agree to take the academy job and begin the endless task of churning out agents to do the job she couldn’t any longer, or quit and lose the years of hard work she’d put into building her career.

Neither one held as much appeal as the turquoise ocean just outside Eric’s door, or the prospect of dinner with Hunter. Well, dinner at Mack’s Place, where Hunter would be working. He was good company, after all, and she had no rules against enjoying that. 

“Great!” Eric snatched up the remote and turned on the giant TV, beaming the entire time. “It’s mostly me and Sam and Billy, but luckily Thurston was in Bulgaria while they were filming Sharknado 5. L.T. even got an appearance in, except she’s in Roboshark.” 

“You all love sharks, huh?” she asked.

Eric lifted a shoulder and flopped down on the other end of the couch as the video began. On-screen, a crowd was screaming and running away from the beach. Bobbi picked out Eric—or possibly Billy or Sam—immediately, looking like he was having the time of his life.

“It’s mostly me,” he admitted. “I used to be an accountant, did Lance tell you?”

“Lance?”

“Hunter,” Eric amended.

“Oh, sure,” Bobbi said, filing that away for later. She’d given him her real first name and he hadn’t even told her his? He owed her two margaritas now. “An accountant, huh?”

“Yeah, in Ohio. It was a complete bummer. I used to plan all my vacations around the beach, and one year me and my brother Billy were here in Florida when Sharknado 2 was filming. We ended up being extras, had a freaking blast, and then it clicked, you know?”

Bobbi shook her head and watched a short clip of another crowd, this one in downtown Los Angeles, get swarmed by CGI sharks. She almost missed Eric’s appearance, but then she caught sight of his screaming face as a shark smashed through a window in front of him.

“Why not spend all my time at the beach?” He settled back against the cushions. “I still do some accounting to pay the bills, but now I get to spend the rest of my time on the water.”

“Sounds nice,” Bobbi murmured, watching the screen and trying to ignore the bubble of envy creeping up her throat. There weren’t any beaches in her future. Being an FBI agent was the only thing she knew.

#

“She lives!” Hunter sang out as Bobbi hobbled through the door of the bar several hours later. She was tired, waterlogged, and probably a little sunburned, but she couldn’t seem to stop smiling.

He returned her grin and pointed toward the table they’d sat at earlier. It was empty, despite being in a prime spot near the water, and her heart did a little flip when she noticed the reserved sign on it. He’d been waiting for her. She sank down in the chair gratefully and propped her leg up on the battered ottoman while he mixed drinks for the coed leaning over the bar, seemingly undistracted by the skimpy bikini top.

“Hungry?” he called over the music blasting from the speakers for the evening crowd. She wondered if anyone ever got sick of listening to Jimmy Buffet or if living down here just turned you into a Parrothead against your will. 

“Starving!” she replied.

“Mack!” he shouted over his shoulder. A moment later a man Bobbi recognized from earlier appeared, filling the doorway of the kitchen. They had a brief conversation she couldn’t hear and then Mack disappeared again while Hunter started another round of drink orders.

The bar was busy tonight, with clusters of families and sunburned middle-aged tourists interspersed with the spring break crowd. She spotted Daisy on the deck, enjoying beers and a basket of shrimp under the stars with someone Bobbi didn’t recognize. He was all easy smiles and broad gestures, telling a story that had Daisy laughing so hard her whole body shook.

There was that envy again. She pushed it away, irritated. So her life wasn’t exactly sunshine and roses. Or sharks, as Eric would say. She’d never expected it to be. All she’d ever wanted to be a part of something that mattered, to make a difference. Teaching agents could let her be a part of that, even if it wasn’t what she’d dreamed of.

She slumped back in her chair, suddenly exhausted, just as a margarita appeared in front of her, along with the person who’d made it. “So, what’s the verdict,” Hunter said, sipping a drink of his own. “Am I still a dead man?”

“No,” Bobbi admitted.

“Chef’s special,” Mack dropped a couple of plates piled high with battered fish and French fries and Bobbi inhaled, her stomach growling almost loud enough to be heard over the music. “Enjoy.”

“Ta, mate.” Hunter saluted with his glass as Mack took over the bar. 

Bobbi took a deep drink of her margarita, closing her eyes and savoring the taste. She opened them to find Hunter studying her, his chin propped on his hand and a small smile curving the edges of his mouth.

“What?”

He shook his head. “Just nice to see you, is all.”

A grain of salt clung to his lower lip and she reached across the table to brush it away. A little electric shock zipped up her arm and his tongue came out to lick his lips, wetting the tip of her thumb as well. Desire pooled in her belly.

“You too,” she managed.

“Did I get it?” he asked. Her fingertips grazed his jaw, the prickle of his stubble stoking the fire inside her.

“Yes,” she breathed, reluctantly pulling her hand back. Hunter’s eyes were dark pools in the dim bar lighting, but there was no mistaking the interest there. Oh, this was bad. Very bad. She was never going to last two weeks with the temptation of this man dangling in front of her.

Maybe it was time to change the rules.

“When do you get off?” she blurted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Blue Crab Beignets](https://www.bonappetit.com/recipe/blue-crab-beignets)


	9. Curry Crab and Cassava Dumplings

Hunter knew he was speeding straight into a train wreck. He wanted to stop, but his mouth didn’t seem to have brakes.

He grinned at Bobbi. “After you do.”

Blast it all to hell.

Well, that was at least the truth. She’d never speak to him again now, and while she’d finished her drink, she’d probably find someone else’s to throw in his face.

Hunter braced himself.

Bobbi looked puzzled, then rolled her eyes. She shook her head and her mouth quirked up into a smile. “Smooth, Lance. Just take me home.”

Ah, so it was going to be a private set down. Probably something about it being her and not him. And for saying he hadn’t known her much more than twenty-four hours, he found the idea of saying goodbye smarted something fierce.

Could they rewind a few minutes to where she’d been touching him? Hunter would have sworn she’d been into it, into him.

Someone barked in laughter a few tables over and the noise dragged across his senses like shards of glass. The bar felt too small, too full of people.

He’d been off duty, walking down the street, when the gun had fired from an alley, aimed at a man standing up in a restaurant, yelling something Hunter had only caught a few words of. He’d been ranting about Americans while his family tugged him towards the back door. One of the women had been dressed in blue. It’d been hot, Hunter had been sweating. A few bullets had thudding into the wall by his head, making plaster rain down on him.

“I’ll be right back,” Hunter said to Bobbi. “I just need to tell Mack I’m leaving.” He hated the repeating scene in his head and tried to focus on the now. The sound of his feet on the floor, the scent of fried fish, how Bobbi’s finger had felt on his skin.

His boss wore a teasing look as Hunter explained about driving Bobbi to her cottage. “Trip’s here with Daisy,” Mack said. “He’s going to cover for you.”

“Thanks, mate.” He flashed Mack a thumbs up and trotted back to the table to help Bobbi to her feet. Even in her trainers, she was a hair taller than him, which he absolutely didn’t mind. Funny, that. He offered her his arm, and she looked relieved as she took it. Hunter was just thankful she hadn’t upended anyone’s gin and tonic over his head yet.

Her hair changed from gold to silver as they walked out into the night, Bobbi leaning against him.

“Well,” he said, stopping beside the golf cart. “It’s been a nice day, thank you for—”

Oh.

They were kissing.

One moment he’d thought he’d mucked everything between them up and now they were kissing.

Bobbi’s lips tasted of margarita. He wrapped his hands around her arms, whimpering as he pulled her closer. Everything else faded away. The noise, the night, the past and future.

The kiss deepened, either she opened her mouth or he did, and their tongues slid together.

Heaven, he must be in heaven, with a goddess in his arms.

Under his palms, she wobbled slightly, and Hunter directed her two stumbling steps back so that her arse plunked down on the plastic vinyl of the golf cart’s front seat. Her knees parted and he stepped closer to her, entranced by all the soft, welcoming noises she made and the warmth she radiated.

Hunter wanted to know all of her. He still didn’t know where she’d grown up, or what kind of music she listened to. Part of him didn’t want to worry about all that at the moment, and part of him desperately wanted for Bobbi to let him in, and not just her body. His cock hadn’t hardened yet—bloody hell, he would’ve had to wank that morning—but it didn’t matter. She might not even fancy a shag.

Bobbi gripped the front of his shirt and tried to tug him down on top of her as she started to lean back. The vinyl seat squeaked loudly as her rear slid against it. They both froze.

Feeling exposed, Hunter straightened and swiveled his head. Mostly they were alone. A family with two older kids had just walked out of Mack’s Place, laughing and not looking to where the golf cart sat in the shadows under the palm trees.

“My place,” Bobbi growled, pulling at his shirt.

“Home, Jeeves, and don’t spare the horses?”

“Yes, whatever that means.”

Hunter helped her get her legs in before hustling to the driver’s seat and gunning the engine. It started with a cough and sounded like an overheating hair dryer as he floored it.

He parked beside the cottage. Bobbi kissed him again, slower this time, her lips moving with an ebb and flow to match the waves breaking on the beach. He cupped her cheek, not wanting to stop, but also wanting so much more.

He shouldn’t want more, but he couldn’t stop himself. Not even telling himself that in a week she wouldn’t be there to kiss worked to put a damper on desire to get closer to the mystery of Bobbi.

She broke the kiss and her eyes searched his face. “Do you want to come inside?”

“I do luv, yeah.”

She nodded, sliding from the seat and wincing as she put weight on her leg. Hunter waited as she found her footing and led the way to the cottage door. The lock made a hideous noise as she turned the key. Bobbi entered and flipped lights on, he stayed where he was as she silently slipped from living room to kitchen, through the bedroom, and finally came out the door of the loo. He recognized that she was clearing the house and didn’t want to intrude until she was comfortable.

“Hunter,” she said as she kicked her shoes off. “Are you a vampire? Do you need an invitation to get in?”

“Nah, just don’t want to intrude.” He toed off his trainers, sweeping Bobbi into his arms with his next step.

She molded against him, and he kept a tight hold on her as he kissed her and walked her towards the bedroom. Before they got to the bed, with it’s faded tropical orange bedspread, she pulled away just long enough to pull her dress over her head. She sat on the bed and scooted back, rubbing her knee before removing her practical white cotton bra.

Hunter had no doubt about what she wanted now.

“Breathtaking,” he murmured as he unbuttoned his shirt and let it drop on the floor. Her nipples tightened under his gaze, tight dusky pink points that begged for his tongue.

He climbed on the bed, the springs squealing a protest, and settled over her, one knee between her legs. Her knickers were damp between her legs. Lust surged through him, hot and needy, but it didn’t do what he needed it to. What a grand time for the side effects of his anti-depressant to show up. If he’d known earlier he’d wind up in her bed he wouldn’t have touched himself.

Only thing for it was to distract her so she maybe wouldn’t notice. Bobbi deserved to be worshiped, she was a heady mix of curves and strong muscles. Her thighs clamped around his head would be a fantastic memory.

Hunter kissed her again, messy with his desire to show her how much he wanted her, even if his body wasn’t cooperating. He planted tiny kisses from her lips, down her jaw, and found more than a few places on her neck that made her moan and squirm. He filed them away for later as he bowed his head to catch one perfect nipple with his mouth.

Bobbi clutched as his head with one hand, mewling. Her other hand trailed over his arms and chest as if she couldn’t get enough of touching him.

He did his best to memorize her breasts, nuzzling the undersides, laving her nipples with his tongue, and kissing the few freckles scattered over them. He tried not to be ashamed of what was happening, or rather not happening, with his prick, but it was blasted hard. Actually, it wasn’t hard, which was the problem.

Beneath him, Bobbi arched her hips up, gave a little cry that sounded almost pained before sinking back down when he didn’t grind into her. Her hands tugged at his hips, but he wiggled free and started a path of kisses down her belly. He’d want to taste her no matter what. Maybe he could lick her until she forgot he hadn’t got off.

“Hunter,” she said, catching and tugging at his hair. “Is something wrong?”

Bloody fucking--

“No?” he tried.

Bobbi scooted up to the headboard, propping her shoulders against it. He gave up and crashed to his side next to her legs. If he burst into tears would that make him any less manly than not being able to get it up for her?

“What’s going on?”

He sighed, heavily, and drew his fingers over the top of her thigh, from the elastic of her knickers to her knee, stopping before he got close to the scar. “I’ll make it good for you,” he promised, speaking to her leg because he couldn’t stomach looking at her disappointed face. “I promise. Lick you until you’re begging and you won’t know if you’re begging me to stop or give you more.”

He risked a quick peek.

Bobbi’s brows were drawn together. “I can’t argue that wouldn’t be amazing, but you didn’t answer my question.”

“That’s because I was trying to distract you,” he grumbled.

She laughed. “Sorry, I’m trained. Tell me.”

“Fine, you’d notice sooner or later anyway. Just let me leave with some dignity, hold back your laughter until I’m out the door.” He didn’t think he could take that, or pity, or whatever came next. “I’m on meds for the PTSD, my doc upped the dose a few months ago and it’s…um, I can’t always…even if I really want to.”

He rolled onto his back and shut his eyes tight.

“I do believe things were working this morning?” Bobbi asked.

“Yes, then I went home and wanked which was a stupid thing to do but how was I supposed to know we end up here?” If he could kick his own arse, he would. “Thought I was doing the right thing, so I wouldn’t be bothering you.”

There was silence, then the bed shifted. Bobbi cuddled against his side. “That sucks, but I’m glad you’re alive, that you survived the things that still haunt you, and that you’re here. Also, my knee seriously fucking hurts and I don’t know if I could get off either. What I need is a pain pill and rest.”

“Fine pair we are.”

She lightly bit his arm, and he cracked an eye open. “You’re yummy,” she said, and he snorted. “And I’m going to ride you into the ground when we both feel like it.”

“You’re not kicking me to the curb?” he asked, confused and not sure what to make of the tangle of feelings inside his chest. Bobbi seemed more relieved than upset, which he hadn’t been expecting. Shame still burned through him, but it was tempered by Bobbi’s soft smile.

“You’ll have to try harder if you want me to do that,” she said. “Maybe make a terrible margarita.” She rolled out of bed and snagged his shirt from the floor, slipping her arms into it as she limped to the loo.

Hunter had to force his mouth to work as he watched her glorious behind in nothing but knickers and his shirt. It sent his mind spinning. “Um, well, not going to start doing that,” he said, hardly remembering what she’d just said.

A pill bottle rattled and the sink ran for a second. He got under the orange comforter, which nobody should be shagging on--the thing was hideous--and turned down the bed for her. She sank into the sheets with a sigh. 

“I should warn you I’ll probably snore because of the pill,” she said.

He wouldn’t care if she rattled the windows. “No worries.” He started to reach across her, but she shook her head.

“I’m the big spoon.” She turned the bedside lamp off.

“You’re the most amazing woman.”

Her smile widened. Hunter almost hated turning away from her radiance, but then she snuggled against his back, her legs settling behind his, and her arm around him. She kissed his shoulder. “Is this scar from a bullet?” she asked.

“Yeah, but I don’t remember it happening. Was busy at the time. Small caliber through and through, didn’t even bleed much. I felt like a right idiot when I noticed in the shower and had to the medical tent. It hurt after I realized it was there.”

Bobbi chuckled. “Any nightmares?” she asked, her hold on him tightening.

“Yeah, all the time, but it’s not like the movies. I don’t thrash around and I’m not going to pull a knife out of my shorts and threaten you while I’m dead asleep.”

“That’d be a terrible place to keep a knife.” She wormed her hand over and squeezed his arse.

“Hey now.”

“It’s nice.”

“You’re nice.”

She didn’t respond and Hunter closed his eyes. He couldn’t hear the ocean, but he could hear Bobbi breathing softly behind him and feel her breath tickling his neck.

It was just as calming. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Curry Crab and Cassava Dumpling ](https://www.simplytrinicooking.com/curry-crab-and-cassava-dumpling)


	10. Crab Quiche with Cheese

Bobbi woke up warm, with one pillow tucked under her head, one between her knees, and third against her back. The one behind her was snoring. She smiled, burying her face against her actual pillow, and experimentally extended her leg. A little stiff, but the pain pill last night had done its work.

Hunter’s arm was slung over her waist, his hand resting on the bed. She liked his hands, with those strong, clever fingers and rough fingertips. She liked a lot of things about him, which was dangerous territory for a vacation fling. She reached back and smoothed a hand over his hip. Or a vacation cuddle. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d woken up in bed with someone without a few rounds of sex first, but what they’d shared with last night had felt just as intimate.

His assumption that she’d kick him out immediately still stung. Did she come across as that heartless? Sure, she was interested in sleeping with him, but she was also just plain interested. He was so matter of fact about his PTSD, instead of dancing around the subject with euphemisms and metaphors like everyone else in Bobbi’s life over the last couple of months. Somehow, he’d managed to make it a strength, and it impressed her no end.

She glanced over her shoulder and the movement jostled him enough to interrupt his snoring. He made a sad noise and buried his nose in the crook of her neck. The scrape of his stubble tickled, and she shivered, her nipples tightening under the shirt she’d stolen from him. His unfairly long eyelashes fluttered but didn’t open. His expression was relaxed, unburdened in sleep, and the echoes of his smile were softly etched in the lines around his eyes.

He wasn’t anything like she’d thought he would be. 

The air conditioner unit in the window was humming away, which meant it was already perfect beach weather outside. The snorkeling yesterday had been amazing, but she didn’t think her knee would appreciate another strenuous day of ladders and boats and tackling future lovers to the ground. Sun and sand, that was her entire agenda today. And Hunter if he wanted to join her. She certainly wouldn’t mind seeing him in swim trunks again. Or out of them.

No matter how many times she’d thought she had him pegged, he’d managed to surprise her. It was equal parts infuriating and intriguing. The loud shirts, the off-color jokes, the stupidly charming grin, it was his armor, and he wore it well. Why he’d chosen to show her what lay underneath was a mystery, but she was grateful all the same.

Between her injury, the surprise of ending up here on Crab Key, and last night, the universe clearly wanted her to slow the hell down. Fine, she could be patient, when necessary, and the anticipation would just make things that much sweeter.

“Okay,” she said to the beadboard ceiling overhead. “I get it.”

Hunter grimaced and mumbled something against her neck.

“Sorry,” she whispered, sliding a hand through his hair until he relaxed again. It was as soft as she’d imagined. Her knee twinged and she made a face. Time to get up and work some of the stiffness out.

Carefully, she wiggled out from under Hunter’s arm and sat on the edge of the bed, taking a breath before attempting to stand without favoring her bad knee. It wouldn’t get any better if she babied it. Pain shot through her leg from toes to hip, knocking the breath from her lungs, but quickly subsided to a dull throb. Definitely a lounge on the beach kind of day.

“Where are you going?” a sleepy voice rumbled behind her.

Bobbi turned around. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Not the question,” Hunter mumbled, his eyes still closed. He turned his hand palm up on the bed and waggled his fingers. “Come back.”

Warmth swooped through her chest and she grasped the headboard to keep her balance as she leaned down and pressed a kiss to his temple. “Sleep as long as you want. I need to walk a little.”

He cracked his eyes open, the brown deep and warm in the dim light. “Knee?”

“Yeah,” she admitted.

He made a sympathetic noise, his hand cupping the nape of her neck and tugging her down for another kiss. It was soft and undemanding, and if her knee wasn’t being such a pain in the ass, she definitely would have climbed back in bed to enjoy it. She sighed against his mouth and pulled back regretfully. 

“Sorry.”

“For the kissing?” His lips twitched up in a smile.

“No for…” She blew out a frustrated breath. “I want to stay in bed with you, and I would have before my stupid-”

“Hey.” Hunter propped himself up on his elbows, the sheet sliding down to pool around his waist to reveal a whole swath of beautiful, naked torso and not helping her predicament in the slightest. “None of that. I’ll wait right here for as long as necessary.”

“Might make it a little tough to serve margaritas.”

He stretched out and tucked his hands under his head. “I’ll call Mack and tell him a beautiful woman needs me in her bed for an indeterminate amount of time. He’ll understand.”

Bobbi laughed. “How about we just agree to meet here later?” God, she wished they really didn’t have a finite number of days to spend together. Already she could feel time slipping too quickly through her fingers.

“Deal.” Hunter reached up and twisted a lock of her hair around his finger. “What are you up to today?”

She lifted a shoulder. “Beach? After a shower and coffee.”

He tugged gently on her hair. “Company?”

Her heart thumped a little faster in her chest. “I’d love some.”

* * *

The stupidly cramped shower stall was quickly climbing the ranks of favorite places to kiss Hunter, although she was very willing to keep experimenting.

Bobbi wrapped her arms around his neck and let her head fall back as he nibbled on her neck, apparently determined to find absolutely all of her erogenous zones in record time. Another experiment she was more than happy to participate in. She slid her hand across his tattooed shoulder blade, the inked skin smooth except for a slight pucker in the center. She’d have to ask about that scar when his mouth wasn’t so busy.

Lukewarm water sluiced over them, but Hunter’s presence more than made up for her cottage’s crappy water heater. The tiled wall was cool against her back, a stark contrast to the heat building everywhere else. One of his hands clutched her ass while the other explored her front, teasing her nipples before sliding lower to dip between her legs.

She moaned, her hips bucking against his hand, and he bit her collarbone. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he rasped. There was hardly any space between them, but she still tugged at him, impatient to get back to the kissing.

“Don’t stop,” she breathed, and then sucked his lower lip between her teeth to nibble on.

His fingers got bolder, searching out her opening and gently pushing inside. She thrust her tongue into his mouth and he groaned, mirroring her rhythm for a moment before pushing a second finger in. She hissed, trying to spread her legs for him in what little space they had.

“I’ve got you, Bob,” he murmured against her mouth. His hand disappeared and she made a noise of protest just as he sank to his knees, his chest against her thighs. He propped his chin on her belly and shot her a wicked grin just before tapping her good leg. “Brace yourself.”

“Wha-” She inhaled sharply as he slid a hand behind her bad knee and gently lifted, hooking her leg over his shoulder. The heat of his breath washed over her pussy and she slumped against the shower wall as he buried his face between her legs.

She was overwhelmed with sensation. The slide of his tongue in and out of her, hot and nimble. The rasp of his stubble against her thigh, the grip on her hip, and the way his fingers dug into her skin. The sound of the water hitting the tile and Hunter’s muffled groans. Her breath came in short gasps, the air leaving her lungs as fast as she could pull it in. Her legs trembled, and she clutched his hair.

“Hunter,” she managed just as she tipped over the edge, her orgasm crashing over her like waves against the beach, rolling through her limbs like liquid pleasure before finally receding to a gentle hum of contentment. Hunter pressed kisses to her inner thighs, watching her with heavy-lidded eyes. She slid a hand through his wet hair. “Thank you.”

“Anytime.” He grinned and carefully eased her knee off his shoulder so he could stand again. “Okay?” he asked, his hands on her hips.

She nodded, trying to catch her breath. “Very.”

There were those damn dimples. “And the knee?”

“Much better,” she said, shifting her weight experimentally.

“Good to know,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around her and nuzzling her neck. “Breakfast?”

“Yes,” she replied fervently. It was getting to be a habit around him. If she wasn’t careful, she’d forget how to say no altogether.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Crab Quiche with Cheese](https://www.thespruceeats.com/crab-quiche-3060063)


	11. Pineapple Crab Salad

The sunshine twinkling on the water seemed brighter than normal. The waves washed the beach in a way that sounded almost  _ cheery _ .

Hunter rubbed at his face with both hands as he sat on the strand. His morning swim had been late and not very vigorous since he’d both eaten…and then eaten, beforehand.

It wasn’t fair that Bobbi had such a perfect pussy. How was he supposed to function when he knew it looked and tasted an absolute treat?

Hunter flopped backward, staring up at the blue sky overhead. A few puffy clouds were artistically arranged and the sweet smell of flowers mixed with the salt scent of the ocean as warm waves washed around him. What a gorgeous day. He couldn’t wait to see Bobbi again, tell her about his swim while making dinner plans.

He had the sinking feeling that he might be happy.

Something poked his side, disappeared, then hard little legs scampered up his arm. He turned his head and eyed the fiddler crab on his arm. “Same, mate,” he muttered. The crab waved its claw at him, probably scolding him for being alive instead of a potential meal washed ashore.

Well, too bloody bad for the little fellow.

Gently, he scooped up the crab and set it down on the sand where it hurried off, intent on its crabby business.

Staggering to his feet, Hunter returned to his cottage, changed into shorts and a red-flowered shirt, and picked up his mobile.

A message from Bobbi gave them a time to meet later, and he sent her a quick confirmation, resisting the urge to add ten emojis at the send and settling for just one of a crab. Another text was from Fitz asking for Hunter to call him. The third was from Trip, inviting him over to hang out and help with bottling the latest creation from Rocking Crab Brewery.

Trainers on, Hunter rambled in the direction of the Brewery. Shooting the breeze with Trip would help pass the time until he met up with Bobbi in the afternoon, and he needed to think about something besides how she tasted or he’d go barmy.

He tapped Fitz’s number in his contacts and held his mobile to his ear as he strolled beneath palm trees and past key limes already showing that this year’s harvest would be excellent.

“Hello!” Fitz answered, sounding like he’d just won the lottery.

Hunter frowned. “Is Jemma blowing you right this second?” There were limited things Hunter could imagine his friend being that blasted happy about.

“What? That’s…no.” His voice dropped. “Not right now.”

Ah, bingo. Hunter snorted a laugh. “I take it everything’s going well in jolly ole England, yeah?”

“Good, I’m good. We’re good.” Fitz blew out a frustrated sounding sigh. “I’m checking on you. I got a cryptic message from Daisy, something about a blonde and you being lovesick. And, well…” He trailed off.

“That doesn’t sound like me?”

“The blonde, yeah, sure thing, but I’ve never seen you making heart-eyes at anybody. And I guess I just want to know you’re okay. Your life had a rough patch there, but you still helped me when I didn’t know my arse from my head when it came to Jemm, and I want to be here for you if you need to talk about falling in love.”

_ Oh. _

Hunter stopped walking, his feet having become much heavier. He was right next to a tall palm tree and he gratefully leaned a shoulder against the rough trunk.

“Daisy made it sound like you’re quite involved with this blonde woman.” Fitz sounded unsure, like he thought Daisy might have been exaggerating. Hunter had to face the fact that involved was a vast understatement when it came to Bobbi.

“Yeah,” Hunter said hoarsely. Coughing, he tried again. “Yeah. Bob, er, Bobbi is quite something.” He closed his eyes. “She’s just here on vacation, but…I really like her a lot. She’s seen me at some not great moments and hasn’t run off screaming. At least not yet.”

“Has she seen you watch any footie yet? That might be a deal-breaker.”

Hunter looked heavenward. “Has Jemma seen you?”

“Ah…no.”

“Ditto. And Bobbi will be leaving before much longer anyway. Then it’ll be my turn to need a shoulder.” Hunter started walking again. He didn’t want to think about the hole Bobbi would leave in his heart. His therapist would be earning his pay for a week or two.

As if Hunter’s heart would magically be unbroken after then.

“I’ll be here for you,” Fitz said. “And thank you, for the whole Jemma thing. I owe you.”

“Ta. I’m happy for you two dorks.”

They said their farewells and Hunter shoved his phone into his pocket as he walked up to the old building in Trip’s backyard that the brewery operated out of. It was painted a bright blue—turquoise if Trip was within hearing—with the dancing crustacean holding a microphone that was the Rocking Crab Brewery’s emblem. Daisy had designed it, along with the labels on the bottles. It wasn’t a huge operation, but it helped pay the bills, and Trip enjoyed himself. At Mack’s Place, Hunter sold the brew to anyone who wanted ‘something local’. There hadn’t been a dissatisfied customer yet.

The man in question rose from where he’d been inspecting the tap of one of his stills.

“Hey,” Trip engulfed Hunter’s hand with his and shook it before patting his back. “Thanks for coming to help.”

“Always, mate.”

From a cooler that rattled with ice, Trip pulled out to longnecks and popped the tops. “This is my new baby. Light, fruity, but enough hops that you know what you’re drinking.”

Hunter clicked his bottle with Trip’s. “Cheers.” The beer went down smooth, with the barest hint of something tropical. “Is that pineapple?” he asked after chugging half the bottle.

Trip grinned. “My man, you nailed it.”

“Fucking delicious.” Hunter held up the bottle and raised a brow. “Piña-crab-loda IPA. Very nice.”

“Daisy named it,” Trip said, pointing for Hunter to put down the bottle before shooing him towards the machinery the microbrewery used for bottling.

They worked steadily for an hour filling, capping, and stacking the beer. They both ended up stripping their shirts off in the heat. A couple of fans blew the humid air about inside the shed, but it wasn’t nearly enough to battle the island humidity.

“Time for another round,” Hunter said, using his crumpled shirt to ineffectively swipe the sweat off his torso.

The icy cold beer felt like heaven as he drank.

Trip sat on an overturned crate near one of the fans. “Wanted to ask you earlier, but how’s it going with the woman you took home last night?”

Hunter rolled his eyes. “Her name is Bobbi, and it went mostly fine, thank you.” He drank more beer because he wasn’t nearly pissed enough for this conversation. Trip could read people like open books. Before Crab Key, beer, and Daisy, the bloke had worked for one of the agencies in Washington. Hunter didn’t know which one and he hoped he never did.

“Mostly fine.” Trip somehow made the words accusatory.

“She enjoyed herself several times,” Hunter grumbled. Part of him hoped Trip would drop the subject but also it’d be good to tell him that he’d had a problem. Even if Bobbi hadn’t seemed upset about the situation, it still weighed on Hunter’s mind. Waking up beside her had been amazing. He’d done his best to memorize the feel of her, along with her taste. It even beat out the Piña-crab-loda.

Trip’s eyes had narrowed. “She enjoyed herself,” he repeated slowly. “But you didn’t?”

“I did,” he said quickly.

“Man, just tell me what is going on. I’m done with secrets.”

“Your recipe for Crab-Apple-Cider is a secret!”

“Spill.”

Hunter swished the beer remaining in his bottle around. “I’m on a higher dose of my antidepressants that I was and, um, not everything works right all the time.” He snuck a glance at Trip, who thankfully looked thoughtful and not pitying.

“Wait here,” he said, getting up and trotting to his house. He was back a moment later, wearing a wide grin as he tossed a small package at Hunter.

Catching it, Hunter held up the item. It was a package with three rings of varying sizes and thickness, held in place to the cardboard backing with molded plastic. For a moment he couldn’t figure it out, but then he realized what he was holding. “Did you just give me cock rings?”

“Yup. Daisy ordered some stuff and we got several free packages of those. Try them out with Bobbi, I bet they’ll help.”

“Thank you.” His eyes got watery. “This is so thoughtful.”

“That’s what friends are for. Now say something manly before we both start crying.”

Hunter laughed. “Ballocks, shite, footie, um…bases are loaded. That’s a Yank thing, right?”

“Close enough.” Trip positioned himself back in front of one of the fans while Hunter opened the package of cock rings and experimentally tugged at one of them. It was stretchy, the soft rubber both elastic and firm. He placed it around the neck of his beer bottle and rolled it down. He supposed his prick would survive, and if it meant he could let Bobbi take a ride, it’d be well worth admitting he needed a little help with the matter.

It’d taken him long enough to admit he needed help after his discharge, or friends for that matter. That he was in place he could freely take the help Trip was offering was a minor miracle. It was a good thing Bobbi hadn’t met him when he was young and full of piss and vinegar. She would have hated him. It was a miracle Fitz was still his friend, though Fitz tended to see the good in everyone. 

Taking the ring off his beer and ignoring Trip’s side-eye, he stashed the cock rings in his pocket, downed the already warming end of his beer, and grabbed a handful of ice from the cooler. He slid it over his skin, imaging he could hear a hissing, because bloody hell, it was a trillion degrees out.

He pressed it to the back of his neck, letting the melt-water trickle down his neck as he stretched.

“I see I came at the right time,” a familiar voice purred from behind him. “Daisy told me where to find you.” Bobbi walked around to face him. “Don’t stop because I’m here.”

Hunter stood staring at her. She’d done something with her hair, pinning it up in a way that made him want to get his fingers into it.

He should say something. “Want a Piña-crab-loda?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Pineapple Crab Salad](https://recipes.howstuffworks.com/pineapple-crab-salad-recipe.htm)


	12. Key Lime Margaritas

Bobbi laughed, startled enough to lose track of the water droplet she’d been watching slide down Hunter’s chest. “A what?”

“Piña-crab-loda,” the man who must be Trip said, holding out a beer.

“One of yours?” Bobbi asked, accepting the chilled bottle. Daisy hadn’t been exaggerating about the power of his smile. She’d mentioned a couple of other things that’d piqued Bobbi’s interest, too.

“You know it,” Trip said cheerfully. “Best beer on the island.”

“Only beer made on the island, too,” Hunter said, reaching over to pop the top off for her. He nudged a crate in her direction, a question in his eyes, but she shook her head and he plopped down on it instead.

She took an experimental sip. “Oh, that’s good,” she said, lifting it up to look at the label.

“Damn right it is,” Trip said, beaming. “Bobbi, right? I’m Trip,” He held out his hand and she shook it, appreciating the firm grip that didn’t stray toward a limp dismissal or a clumsy test of strength.

“That’s me,” she said, “I hope you don’t mind me stealing Hunter away.”

“It’s fine. He’s more decorative than anything,” Trip said with a wink.

“Oi!” Hunter protested.

“He does brighten up the place,” Bobbi said, sliding a hand through his hair and down to the nape of his neck, his skin hot under her palm.

Hunter’s exaggerated pout disappeared, and he tucked a finger into the beltloop of her shorts to tug her closer. “How was the beach?”

“Sandy, hot, perfect.” Bobbi sighed. “I can’t believe you guys get to live here all the time.”

Trip laughed. “Sometimes, neither can I. How long are you sharing our little piece of paradise?”

Bobbi lifted a shoulder, her good mood dipping slightly. “Another week or so.”

She didn’t miss the way Trip’s gaze darted in Hunter’s direction, or the tiny frown that briefly marred his features. On one hand, it was nice to see how many people Hunter had in his corner, and on the other, she wanted to scream from the rooftops he wasn’t the only one risking a heartache.

In a stupid bit of irony, the stern, detached persona she’d been cultivating her whole career was suddenly more of a drawback than her knee. She wanted these people—Hunter’s friends and colleagues, the ones he’d chosen to surround himself with while he rebuilt his life—to like her. It was a strange feeling, and one she wasn’t entirely sure what to do with.

“Have you lived here long?” she asked Trip.

“Long enough to get into the brewing business, not long enough to take it for granted.” He tipped up the bottle of beer in his hand, draining the last of its contents.

Bobbi tilted her head, watching him while absently carding her fingers through Hunter’s hair. Daisy had just shrugged when she’d asked for specifics on the government job Trip had left behind, but he sure talked like a spy. The burnout rate at the CIA was legendary, but he’d obviously landed on his feet.

“Do you ever miss where you were before?” she said.

Trip gave her a long, considering look, his sharp eyes darting down to her knee, then back to her face. “Not as much as I thought I would,” he finally replied, “But I’ve never been one for regrets.”

The words sliced through her. She felt nothing but regret these days, mourning the career she thought she’d have, second-guessing every decision she’d made the day she’d been shot, and now, allowing herself to get involved with a man she was very much going to regret leaving behind.

Her fingers tightened in his hair and Hunter nuzzled against her hip, a welcome distraction. “What’s the plan for this afternoon?” he asked.

“I heard there’s a place nearby that serves great shrimp,” Bobbi said, trying to keep her tone light.

“Are you asking me on a date, Barbara?” He tipped his head up, giving her an amused smile, and her heart skipped a beat.

“Maybe.”

“I accept.”

“Good, because I’m starving.” She trailed her fingers through the scruff he hadn’t bothered to shave, the remembered echo of how it had scraped against her thighs sending a shiver down her spine. Bending down, she brushed a kiss across his lips and lingered for a moment to enjoy the faint taste of Piña-crab-loda. “Feel free to not get dressed first.”

“Sadly, I don’t think Mack appreciates me the way you do.” Hunter reached for a hideous flowered shirt and shrugged it on, getting to his feet. It looked great on him, which should have been criminal, but instead had her rethinking her no novelty shirts rule. He seemed to be an exception to a lot of her rules.

“He must be blind,” she said, drawing a smile with full dimples out of him. God, she loved that smile.

She was in so much trouble.

Trip snorted. “You two kids have fun. Be safe out there.”

“Thanks for the beer, mate, and the…” Hunter trailed off. “You know.” 

“No worries.” Trip gave him a nod but no clues as to what they were talking about.

Bobbi bit back the questions on the tip of her tongue. She was just a visitor here, not an agent, not a friend, not a…whatever she could have been to Hunter if circumstances were different. If it was one thing her injury had taught her, though, it was not to take anything for granted. She slipped her hand into Hunter’s as soon as he finished buttoning his shirt, intertwining their fingers and squeezing tight. He squeezed back, his palm fitting perfectly against hers.

“It was nice to meet you,” she said to Trip.

“You too, Bobbi. I’ll see you around?”

She smiled. Nothing could last forever, but she and Hunter had a whole week in front of them. Seven long, perfect days in paradise to make the most of their time together. And she planned on it. “You will.”

#

The second margarita was making her a little giddy, and Bobbi set it down before she started babbling about how pretty Hunter looked, reaching for her water instead. They were watching the sunset from the back deck of Mack’s place, full of shrimp and amazing sauce. The drinks weren’t quite as good as Hunter’s, though she suspected she might be biased.

He did look pretty, but she wasn’t sure how he’d take that. Men could be so delicate.

Hunter had dragged his chair around to her side of the table after they’d finished eating, slinging an arm around her shoulders and easing his thigh under her bad knee when she’d started eyeing the railing. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this happy and relaxed. If she was prone to superstition, she might take that as a sign. Instead, she’d just allow for the possibility that May had been right. A forced vacation had been a good call.

The last vestiges of sunlight faded from the sky, turning the few clouds overhead purple and blue as night set in. He’d tipped his head back, gazing at the faint stars just beginning to shine, exposing the long line of his tanned throat. She wanted to mark every inch of it as hers before tearing off his clothes and getting to work on the rest of him. 

“You’re staring,” he said.

“You’re pretty,” she blurted. Damn margaritas.

He grinned, clearly unperturbed. She had great taste in novelty-shirt-wearing bartenders. Why hadn’t she dated any before? Besides the fact that none of them had been Hunter.

“I think that’s my line,” he said.

“No one’s stopping you.” She tried to snuggle a little closer to him, annoyed by the arms of the chairs between them.

“It’ll just sound trite now.” His fingers walked up the back of her neck before sinking into the haphazard bun she’d managed to construct with the few pins she could find and gently massaged her skull. She leaned into his hand and hummed in satisfaction. “Pretty doesn’t really cut it, anyway,” he murmured, using a husky, quiet tone that made her toes curl.

She set a hand on his thigh, rubbing slow circles with her thumb. “Want to head back to my place?”

“On our first date?” Hunter mock-gasped, his fingers digging into a spot behind her ear that made her groan. “Hell, yes.”

“Thank god.” 

He eased his leg out from under her knee and she made a disappointed noise as his hand disappeared from her hair. “I’ll let Mack know we’re taking the cart.”

“Actually, can we walk?” She stood up, testing her leg. It twinged, but no more than it had this morning. 

“Sure,” he said, taking her hand. “Beach or street?”

“Beach.” She liked that he didn’t second guess her.

They took a few minutes to settle the tab before heading down toward the ocean, the sunlight a distant memory now. The dark surf lapped gently against the sand, washing in and out like a steady, familiar heartbeat.

Ambling along in the darkness, guided only by moonlight and the occasional light from nearby cottages, for a moment Bobbi could almost imagine what it might be like if she stayed. If she left behind the pieces of her shattered career and started fresh. She drew in a slow, shaky, breath of salt-scented air, her hand tightening reflexively around Hunter’s.

“Okay?” he asked quietly.

“Can I ask you for a favor?” she said.

“If it involves a body, I know just the place.”

She let out a startled laugh. “Good to know, but no.”

“What is it then?”

She stopped, turning to stare out over the ocean, while Hunter waited patiently beside her. “Can we pretend this doesn’t have an expiration date?”

“You and me?”

“Yes?”

He was silent for a long moment. The moon wasn’t up yet, and she couldn’t see his expression.

Bobbi bit her lip. Maybe she was asking for too much. “Hunter?” 

“Just trying to figure out how that’s different from what I’m doing now.”

Her breath caught in her throat. “Oh. So yes?”

He tugged her closer, sliding his arms around her waist. “Not sure why you’d want to pretend you’re stuck with me, but I’m game.”

Something loosened in her chest and she leaned in to kiss him, nipping at his lower lip and then his chin before moving to kiss his throat the way she’d wanted to earlier. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his ridiculous shirt as she resisted letting them stray lower. The last thing she wanted was to make him worry about his erection or lack of one. She could feel his need in the way his fingers dug into her hips, in the way he tipped his head back to give her access to his neck, and in the slow smile he’d given her when she’d invited him back to her place. She could spend all night kissing him just like this. There was no rush.

They had all the time in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Key Lime Margaritas](https://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/key-lime-margaritas-351853) Pairs well with crab ; )


	13. Crab Toast

Life didn’t get better than this. Ocean breezes, the sound of waves, and Bobbi in his arms. They lay sprawled on her bed and he had a hand under her shirt, teasing a nipple as they made out like a pair of teenagers.

Her tits were a lovely handful, and she seemed to enjoy him playing with them nearly as much as he did. He felt a little sympathy he hadn’t before for Fitz, who’d waxed lyrical about Jemma’s rack for days. Hunter would also like to testify about the glories of Bobbi to anyone who’d listen, and probably to a few people who wouldn’t.

He’d gotten his shirt off at some point. The feel of Bobbi running her fingertips over his chest and arms was decadent. He nipped at her bottom lip and she moaned and slid her tongue against his.

It took him a while to realize that her hands never drifted even close to areas below his waist.

Bloody hell, she was being respectful and caring. How was he supposed to stop wanting to always be close to her? And he was working on a decent erection. With the rubber ring in his pocket, he’d be good to go for whatever Bobbi wanted.

“Hey,” he said while planting little kisses along her jaw. “I’m up for everything tonight if you know what I mean.”

Bobbi laughed, a delightful sound that he couldn’t imagine ever getting tired of. He nuzzled into her hair, inhaling the sweet orange scent of her shampoo. “Truthfully,” she said, rasping her fingers over his stubble, “even if this is all we did, I’d be fine with it.” A little line appeared between her brows. “Every time I’ve gone to bed with someone, it’s always felt like a rush to get to a climax, and I don’t mean for me. This is nice.” She kissed his shoulder. “Whatever we do together is good, even if it’s just sleep.”

Hunter smiled through a rush of sadness. He smoothed the worry from her brow with the pad of his thumb. How could Bobbi be so amazing? “I’d like to try,” he said, pulling the cock ring from his pocket to show her.

She made a face. “Is that a donut? Did you have a mini chocolate donut in your pocket?”

“I carry them around at all times for snack emergencies.” He waggled his brows.

With a snort, Bobbi snatched the ring from his fingers. “Oh, it’s a cock ring.” She sounded almost disappointed.

“I’m sure I can get you chocolate donuts if you’d rather.” He chuckled, though donuts didn’t sound half bad.

“You,” she groused, sitting up while she pushed him over onto his back. Hunter laced his hands behind his head. He found himself willing to do whatever Bob wanted. Sex, or sleep, or a late-night run for donuts. As long as he was with her it’d all be wonderful.

Bobbi straddled his thighs.

Sex it was. Excellent.

She tested her knee, then bent over to briefly kiss his lips before proceeding quickly down to his chest and stomach. Her tongue traced over everything, from his pecs to his bellybutton, then lower still. She undid his trousers and he lifted his hips so she could drag them and his shorts down his legs. Bobbi left them around his knees and he used his feet to get them the rest of the way off.

She examined his prick, which was most of the way to being hard. “It’s pretty,” she finally declared.

He raised a brow. “Pretty? Poor fellow, here I was thinking you wanted me to shag you.”

“Pretty. Don’t try to deny it. He just needs a little dressing up.”

Bobbi fisted his prick and he groaned at the firm strokes she gave him. Holy hell that felt blasted amazing. Pausing, Bobbi stuck the ring in her mouth for a second, then stretched it just enough to get it over the head of his prick. She rolled down the shaft to the base before crawling over to the bedside table.

He peered down at his cock. The tight rubber around it didn’t feel uncomfortable, just a little odd, and the damn thing already looked harder. He hoped it’d work out, Bobbi had been so lovely and understanding, but he wanted to fuck her at least once so he’d have that memory. It’d be something he could take out and cherish on nights when other thoughts wouldn’t let him sleep.

Nope. No thoughts about anything that wasn’t here and now. He refused.

Bobbi settled back over him and he took a deep breath, focusing on the here and now. The mattress under his back was firm. He settled his hands on Bob’s hips, her skin felt warm and soft. She tugged her shirt off and he zeroed his gaze in on her breasts. The nipples were tight. The air smelled of orange shampoo, sex, and ocean. Bobbi’s taste lingered in his mouth.

Biting her lip, Bobbi tore open a condom package and rolled it over his prick. She gently settled his cock back on his belly and cupped his bollocks.

“Fucking hell,” he breathed. Bobbi grinned like the cat who got the cream, then bent over and licked his sac. He saw stars and his entire body shuddered with bliss. She laved him, then gently sucked one side, followed by the other. His mouth ran away with him and he mumbled words of praise and thanks and good god, where had she learned to use her tongue like that.

Bobbi finally let his balls go and started to prowl up his body, only to stop with a pained look and then a sigh.

“Your knee?” he asked, cupping her cheek.

She nodded morosely. “I think riding you hard isn’t going to happen.” She looked so upset about not being able to be on top that he almost laughed. It was adorable. Her lower lip stuck out in a very kissable pout. Hunter had picked up on the fact that Bobbi liked being in control, and this vacation had ended up being a series of things she couldn’t control. Being hit in the knee had been out of control. Even having whatever feelings she did for him probably made it seem like she didn’t entirely have control or a choice about things.

He wished he could do more to make things better for her, but hell if he knew what to do with the feelings he was fast developing for her. She could choose breakfast in the morning.

Slowly, Hunter guided her down to her side, rolling with her so they ended up face to face on the bed. Making sure not to be rough, he guided her injured knee over his hip and scooted his pelvis forward to line up his prick with her opening.

“Is this alright?” he asked.

Bobbi’s gaze held his, then she tightened her leg around him and drove herself fully onto his cock.

Oh dear sweet---“Fuck,” he growled. She felt warm and welcoming, her inner muscles squeezing tight then letting go as she adjusted to him.

After a minute, she dug her heel into his arse and he assumed it was time to start thrusting, which he did with abandon. The cock ring was a miracle worker. He hadn’t been this hard since he was eighteen.

“Hunter,” she moaned. Her hand trapped between them grabbed his bicep and the other one latched onto his arse. She shifted and pushed at him so that the angle of his plunges changed slightly. He was rewarded with a very loud groan. Anyone walking by on the beach would know exactly what was happening in this cottage.

He grinned and kissed her. Everyone on the blasted island could know they were shagging for all he cared.

Bobbi’s face flushed and her grip on his arse tightened. Obediently, he pushed into her a little harder and faster.

“Clit,” she murmured, and he slid his hand from where it rested on her thigh down until he could press a finger against her clit and rub it just the way she’d taught him to.

She came spectacularly, her pussy milking his cock while she pressed messy kisses to his lips. The noises of enjoyment she made were the most wonderful things he’d ever heard.

He kept thrusting through her orgasm. At last, she relaxed, going boneless as she snuggled against him.

It would have been magical if he could have gotten off when she had, but bodies just didn’t work like that. The cock ring felt weird and tight, he was panting like he’d just swum a mile, and the arm under him was going to sleep.

“What do you need to get off?” Bobbi murmured. He pressed his face into her hair so she couldn’t see his eyes getting misty over her concern.

“Would your knee be okay if you went to you back? And if, I, uh…pounded a little?”

“Please.”

Clinging to him, Bobbi dragged him on top of her. He braced his hands on either side of her torso and went wild, bucking furiously into her until his climax caught up with him. The surge was powerful, his cock pulsing with it as the pleasure swept through him.

Bobbi cradled him close, stroking his back when the grip of the orgasm finally released.

It was tempting to just drop down and fall asleep, but that would make for quite a mess. Reluctantly, he sat back, anchored the condom, and pulled out of her.

“I’ll be right back,” he said, somehow managed to climb over her leg and off the bed. He shuffled to the bathroom while Bobbi made a satisfied noise and stretched out like a starfish.

The condom came off easy enough, though getting the ring stretched out and over his sensitive prick proved to be more of a challenge.

He maneuvered his fingers down, touched his shaft, hissed and jerked, with the result that the ring snapped back into place around his cock. He yelped at the sudden pain and had to grab the edge of the sink to keep from ending up on the floor. The sharp pain had him seeing double for a moment.

“Everything okay?” Bobbi called.

“Fine!” he ground out between clenched teeth. The second time he moved faster and got the bloody thing off with no more personal injury. He binned the rubber and washed, then brought a damp flannel to Bobbi and cleaned her as well.

After rising the flannel and leaving it in the sink, he returned to the bedroom to find Bobbi still spread out. He sat beside her, threading his fingers through her golden hair.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

He chuckled. “My pleasure.”

“I really wouldn’t have minded if…you know.” She sounded sleepy, and her eyes were mostly closed. “I like being around you.”

“Good to know.”

She rolled onto her side and wiggled over, making room for him.

Hunter lay down on his back and she cuddled against him. The days left for them to be together seemed far too few.

He clicked the light off, leaving the room lit only by the moonlight streaming through the window. “I like being around you too.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Crab Toast ](https://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/crab-toast-with-lemon-aioli-51256480?mbid=synd_msn_rss)


	14. Cold Crab Spaghetti

“Have you seen my-” Bobbi looked up in time to snag her blue bikini top as it came sailing out of the bathroom.

Hunter followed after, lounging against the doorframe in shorts and a white tank top. Everything about his stance screamed ‘casual’ but she could see the tension in his shoulders, the rigid set of his jaw. She knew just how he felt. Her insides had been in knots since breakfast.

The last few days had vanished in the blink of an eye, and no matter how hard she tried, she could no longer ignore that this was her last day on Crab Key. She’d gotten two confirmation texts from the airline and one from May, reminding her of their meeting when she returned.

When she left this behind.

She couldn’t change the facts. Her vacation was over, the real world was waiting, and she had a career to try and salvage. What was left of it. Bobbi dropped her gaze to her half-packed bag. “Thanks.”

Sauntering over, Hunter plopped down on the bed and frowned at her jumble of clothes. “Is that my shirt?” He reached over and she slapped his hand away, burying the neon green flowered shirt under a pile of bikinis.

“No,” she said archly.

“Seems like this should be an even exchange,” he said, tugging her down beside him on the bed.

Bobbi slung her legs over his lap, looped an arm around his shoulders, and leaned into him, breathing deeply. She was never going to be able to smell the ocean again without thinking of Hunter. She wasn’t going to be able to do a lot of things without thinking of him.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice I’m missing a pair of underwear,” she said, her voice muffled against his neck.

He chuckled, the sound reverberating through his chest. “Can’t slip anything past the Feds.” Gently, he massaged her injured knee with one hand, soothing the dull ache that’d been building since they’d gotten back from the beach.

“Nope.” She kissed his collarbone, her nose pressed against a faint bruise she’d marked him with last night.

Hunter wrapped his arms around her and tipped them back onto the bed in a tangle of limbs and scattered clothing she really needed to finish packing. After a little more kissing. She lay sprawled half on top of him and fitted their lips together, the perfect angle coming naturally after all the practice they’d had. He made a happy noise against her mouth and she filed it away to remember when she was old and grey. When she’d have time to look back and wonder what could have been. 

He’d left a few reminders of their time together littered over her skin, too, but while those would fade, the way he’d burrowed into her heart felt a lot more permanent. A week ago, she would have said it was impossible to fall in love so quickly, but now…it was slipping back into her real life that she couldn’t picture.

Logically, she knew her time here was finite, but her brain wouldn’t stop whispering treacherous what-ifs in the dead of night when her knee was throbbing and Hunter’s steady breathing lulled her back to sleep faster than any meditation practice.

Bobbi deepened the kiss, desperate for one last taste, one last everything. His hands slowly slid up her back, under the t-shirt she was wearing, sweeping up and down her spine in long, soothing strokes. She wanted more time, but there wasn’t any left. She had a boat to catch, and then a plane, and neither of those things would wait for her.

Hunter pulled back and one corner of his mouth lifted, though his smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Margarita at Mack’s?” he said.

“Rain check?” she asked, resting her chin on his chest and drinking in the deep brown of his eyes, those unfairly long eyelashes, the stubble verging on a beard. She appreciated his valiant effort to pretend this wasn’t the end, but every minute that slipped by felt wasted unless she was touching him.

“Sure,” he said, lifting his head for another kiss.

Even now, in the midst of reality intruding on their piece of paradise, she couldn’t bring herself to say goodbye. He’d stuck to his promise, not mentioning her impending departure once, even today. If she let herself, it was easy to imagine he’d be right here waiting until she came back.

It wasn’t the plan, but she hadn’t factored in a veteran-turned-bartender with questionable fashion taste who understood her life in a way no one ever had before.

The ache in her chest intensified.

“I’m going to miss this,” she whispered, kissing him before he could respond. She kept her eyes closed so she didn’t have to see the expression on his face, though from the way his arms tightened like a vice around her, she wasn’t the only one.

* * *

“Morse,” May snapped. Her irritated tone told Bobbi it wasn’t the first time her supervisor had said her name.

“Sorry,” Bobbi said, stiffening her spine. “Yes?”

May rubbed one temple and leaned back in her chair. “You do understand it’s not as simple as accepting a position, right? Have you put together your resume?”

Oh right, they were talking about the academy post again. The same thing they’d been discussing for what felt like a solid week. Bobbi snuck a glance at the phone in her hand. Damn, it was only Wednesday. Time had been crawling since she’d come back like she was wading through molasses.

She’d abandoned her suitcase in the middle of her chilly apartment and left it there, unable to bring herself to unpack. It still sat in her living room, closed and zipped, the last piece of a vacation she couldn’t bear to see end. The whole city felt claustrophobic and returning to work hadn’t helped in the slightest. Nights were the worst. She lay awake cradling her phone, willing herself not to call Hunter. She couldn’t ask him to be her crutch, not when she had nothing to offer in return.

“I haven’t had time,” Bobbi lied. She could have made time, but whenever she’d opened her resume it had felt like admitting defeat and she’d closed it again, distracting herself by typing up notes on the few remaining cases she’d hoped to keep. There was no pretending anymore. She was being shunted off to the academy whether she wanted to go or not, although from what she gathered from May’s little speech, even that wasn’t guaranteed.

Her time in Key West felt more like a dream than a memory, a fantasy conjured up by pain pills and the restlessness of being cooped up all winter trying to recover from an injury that never should have happened. The bright sunshine, the tang of lime and salt on her tongue, the long, languid hours she’d spent kissing Hunter—all seemed unbelievable here in the land of imposing gray buildings and plain black suits.

May sighed. “They want it by Friday, Morse. They’re making an exception because of your…circumstances,” her eyes dropped like she could see through her desk to Bobbi’s injured knee, “but they’ve already started interviewing candidates and there aren’t infinite instructor spots available.”

Squinting against the headache-inducing fluorescent lights, Bobbi tried to push away the nagging sense of wrongness she’d been carrying around since she’d gotten off the plane. This was home, not some imaginary cottage by the sea just big enough for two.

Her phone pinged, and she had to tamp down her disappointment when she saw it was just an appointment reminder, not a text from Hunter. She hadn’t heard from him since Sunday when she’d sent a message letting him know she’d arrived safely. He’d sent back a photo of the sunset from the deck of Mack’s place, a margarita on the railing. ‘ _Wish you were here’,_ his message read. She’d stood at the baggage claim for a long time, watching her crab-free suitcase rotate around the carousel and fighting the urge to book another ticket immediately. 

“Bobbi,” May said, her tone softening. “What’s going on? You’ve been distracted since you got back. It isn’t like you at all.”

Blowing out a breath, Bobbi tried to focus. “I know, sorry, I just…I’ve been thinking.”

A furrow appeared between May’s eyes. “About?”

“Everything. This.” Bobbi gestured at the cramped office they were sitting in before dropping her hand to her lap. Hunter’s dimples flashed before her eyes, and she swallowed the lump in her throat. “What’s worth hanging onto.” 

“You know the offer of a counselor is still on the table,” May said carefully. 

“I’m seeing one this afternoon.” Bobbi attempted a smile, holding up her phone before tucking it into the pocket of her blazer. “Somebody told me they’re actually pretty useful.”

Tilting her head, May considered her for a long moment. “You haven’t said much about your trip. How was it?”

Amazing. Unforgettable. Eye-opening. “It was…good. Fine,” Bobbi finally replied.

May lifted an eyebrow.

“Great margaritas. Have you ever been to the Keys?” Bobbi said, attempting to deflect her supervisor’s uncanny perceptiveness.

“No.”

“You should go.”

“Noted,” May said. She leaned forward, clasping her hands together on the desk. “Your resume?”

“I’ll have it to you by Friday,” Bobbi promised.

After all, if she needed one to apply for a job at her own damn agency, she might as well take a look at what else was out there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Cold Crab Spaghetti](https://www.foodandwine.com/recipes/cold-crab-spaghetti)


	15. Crab Roll

The room spun. Just a tad. Hunter hadn’t meant to get pissed, but after Mack’s Place had closed he hadn’t wanted to go home to an empty and cold bed.

So he’d had a beer or two and helped Elena clean the dining room.

Then he’d had a few pints more, washed down with a shot or five.

Now he was in the kitchen, swaying in front of the tanks that contained tomorrow’s specials. Hunter leaned forward to rest his forehead against the cool glass. Large crabs, their pincers banded shut, moved over each other to bump into the sides of the aquarium.

One scrambled away from the others and launched itself upwards, legs waving wildly until it gave up and floated back to the bottom.

“You poor bastards,” he said, pressing a palm to the tank. “You have no bloody clue how bad tomorrow is going to be.” His thoughts tripped over each other, most of them centered around Bobbi. Who’d not called. Or texted. Or shown back up to run into his arms.

What a sorry sot he was.

A hand landed on his shoulder.

“You okay?”

Hunter rolled his head slightly to the side, blinking until Mack came into focus. “Do I look okay?”

“You look like you’re talking to crabs.” Trip stood behind Mack, shoulder against the door jamb.

Hunter closed his eyes. “Did you know I met Bobbi because of crabs?”

Both Mack and Trip groaned.

“Yes,” Mack said. “No need to repeat the story.” He mumbled something that sounded like ‘for the millionth time’.

Hunter sighed. They couldn’t possibly imagine how the airport had been that day. “So many crabs.”

“Yup.” Trip put his hand on Hunter’s other shoulder. He and Mack steered Hunter out of the kitchen, through the dining room, and into the night. The three of them headed for the beach. Hunter didn’t stop walking until the water lapped at his trainers. He sat down, chin propped in a hand, and stared out at the waves.

After a moment, Mack sat on one side of him and Trip on the other.

“Is this an intervention?” Hunter asked, both touched and annoyed at their presence. Couldn’t he wallow in misery alone?

“Nah,” Trip said. “One drunken night doesn’t need an intervention.”

Mack stretched his legs out, letting the tide tug at the cuffs of his trousers. “We’re making sure you’re going to be fine, even if you’re not right now.”

“I miss her,” Hunter said. He dragged his finger over the wet sand, creating a shallow furrow that washed away with the next wave. “I didn’t mean to have feelings.”

“You love her,” Trip scoffed. “None of this ‘have feelings’ bullshit.”

“Fine, I love her, but I’m not going to see her again.”

“It’s barely been a week.” Mack bumped his shoulder against Hunter’s. “It’s not like she blasted off on a one way trip to Mars. She’s probably trying to figure her life out.”

A bubble of pain rose in Hunter’s chest. “I was her fling,” he murmured. “She doesn’t love me like I love her.”

Mack sighed. “Time to call in the big guns.”

Trip pulled his mobile out of his shirt pocket and dialed. “Hi, Fitz,” he said a moment later. “I’m sitting next to Hunter, who’s had too many beers after getting his heart broken.”

The phone got passed to Hunter. “Alright?” he said into the receiver.

Fitz yawned. “Where are you at?”

“Sitting on the beach. It’s pretty. And dark. What about you?”

“Just getting up. Jemma’s got the kettle going and I think she’s going to make pancakes.”

Fuck, pancakes sounded good. He wanted to make Bobbi pancakes. “Are there chocolate chips?” he asked, trying not to whinge.

“Blueberries!” Jemma chirped in the background. Bobbi probably liked blueberry pancakes.

“What do I do?” he asked Fitz. “It hurts.”

“How drunk are you?”

“Yes?”

Fitz yawned again. “You have to be if you’re asking me for relationship advice. I’m rubbish at it.”

“You seem to be living with your dream girl, who’s making you breakfast.” The waves were coming in higher now, rolling cool and ticklish all the way up to his hips.

“As if I have any idea how that happened.”

There was a pause and a muffled sound, then Jemma came on the line. “Hunter, what’s wrong?”

“I like somebody,” he hedged.

He could almost hear Jemma’s eyes rolling. “Does she like you back?”

“I thought so.”

“Thought?”

“She left and I sent her a text and I’ve not heard back.”

Jemma hummed slightly. “Well, her loss. Most blokes wouldn’t be sad about a vacation girlfriend leaving and not bothering them.”

“I love her,” he all but cried.

Jemma had the audacity to laugh. “I can tell. Why don’t you reach out to her again? Not in a clingy way, don’t send five-hundred texts, but just let her know you’re still thinking about her.”

He sat there, the water slowly rising, and thought about it. Mack and Trip retreated further up the beach, leaving him alone with the sand, sea, and stars.

“Hunter?” Jemma said gently.

“I’m thinking about it. I’m thinking about how much I’d like to share this moment with her.”

“There you go, a good place to start.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I’m going to let you go now, my boyfriend needs to earn his pancakes.”

The line went dead. Hunter made a face at the blank screen of the mobile. That was way more than he wanted to know about how his mate’s relationship worked.

Hunter shuffled to his feet, his trousers soaking, and stumbled over to where Mack and Trip stood. “I appreciate this,” he said, handing Trip back his mobile. “And yeah, I’m going to be okay, eventually.”

Taking his iPhone from his shirt’s front pocket, Hunter snapped a picture of the moonlit beach. ‘Thinking of you’ he typed before he sent the picture to Bobbi.

#

_ Two Days Later _

Stripped down to a pair of shorts, Hunter helped Trip organize boxes for delivery. One pile went to Mack’s bar, the others would be taken by boat to other Keys.

“Break,” Trip yelled before dumping a bottle of water over his head.

Hunter did the same. He should save up and buy one of those fancy portable a/c units for Trip.

Daisy came out of the house, lemonade in hand.

“You’re a blessing,” Hunter told her as he grabbed one and chugged.

She propped her back against one of the shed’s support beams. “Heard anything?”

“Nah, for all I know she has me blocked, but the pictures are for me anyway. I had a good talk with my therapist about it. I take the pictures, I send them, and eventually, there’ll be fewer and fewer as time goes on.” The thought that he’d eventually move on stung, but that was how life worked.

“Well, I want a picture of you two.” She held up her phone and waved Trip and him closer together. Trip smiled his easy grin and Hunter managed to raise one corner of his mouth while flashing a thumbs-up. A second later, his mobile beeped as Daisy sent him a copy of the photo.

He sent it to Bobbi. ‘Thinking of you.’

#

The next week passed in a blur, but it eased the ache in his heart to still be including her in small ways. He took a picture of the crab necklace Daisy was making at her shop and sent it to Bobbi because she’d like it and would look lovely with the chain draped around her neck.

He took pictures of the dolphins playing in the surf the day after a small squall blew through, of key limes ripening on the trees, of a flower that carried a rich scent.

Hunter backstroked through a calm early morning sea. Bright white, puffy clouds dotted the sky, promising another perfect day.

Later he planned to head over to one of the closer nature sanctuaries with Eric to see the reef sharks that gathered there. It’d be fun, possibly involve barbeque, and he’d get a great shark picture to send to Bobbi. Maybe he’d put his mobile in a ziplock and try for an underwater shot. He’d been reading online articles about photography. Learning about composition, light sources, and depth of focus so he could send better pictures. It’d been a good thing to concentrate on instead of how much he wished Bobbi was still around. His therapist had approved.

The water stilled around Hunter as he went from swimming to floating.

Gulls wheeled overhead, screaming at each other and probably him.

He rubbed his face.

There was still no clue Bobbi was even getting his photos, but they were for him too, not just her, and he could love her whether she was with him or not. He’d almost sent a message offering to move to where she was, but in the end, he’d erased it. Crab Key was home. The life he had here was one he’d fought for. Trip, Mack, Elena, Daisy, and Coulson were his family now. And for all he knew, Bobbi had a support system just as important to her where she lived, one she didn’t want to leave. One he wouldn’t ask her to leave.

He loved her too much to be selfish.

She was still getting the pictures.

Hunter rolled over in the water, shooed a small fish away with his hand, and butterfly stroked back towards his cottage. The rhythmic movement, splashing of water, and the ragged sound of his breathing drove all other thoughts out of his head.

He pulled himself out of the ocean, panting, and padded up to shore to his sun-warmed towel. He wandered inside while stretching out his arm and checked his phone out of habit. No notifications, as he expected.

After rubbing his hair as dry as it’d get, he tossed the towel into the washing machine, following it with his swim trunks.

He stood naked and still dripping, as he set the washer to run.

His mobile trilled in the kitchen and he answered it absently while opening the fridge to look for breakfast.

“I promise we’ll get out to the reef on time,” he said, expecting it to be Eric on the phone. The fellow had called twice the night before to confirm when and where they were meeting.

There was a soft intake of breath before the most wonderful voice in the world spoke. “Hunter?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Crab Roll](https://www.bonappetit.com/recipe/the-slipway-crab-roll)


	16. Deviled Crab

Bobbi stared at her reflection in the mirror, turbulence bumping the plane just enough to remind her she needed to get back to her seat.

This was crazy.

Getting on a plane to go back to a place she’d been exactly once — to a man she’d only begun to know — was the exact opposite of her usual carefully designed, stringently executed life plan. A leap of faith so wasn’t her style, and it was making her nauseous.

Her pale face in the mirror stared back, the light doing incredibly unflattering things to her skin. The last month under nothing but fluorescent lights and gray skies had been more than enough to fade her vacation tan, along with her enthusiasm for what she’d once thought was her calling.

Wetting a paper towel, she pressed it against the back of her neck and worked on keeping her breaths deep and even, just like her therapist had taught her. It wasn’t all that different from dealing with adrenaline on the gun range, or on the mats. She was still a lot slower than she used to be, and favoring her bad leg kept biting her in the ass when she sparred, but every day her knee got a little stronger.

Along with her conviction that she was in the entirely wrong place. 

She still could hardly believe Hunter had picked up the phone when she’d finally, after more than two weeks of radio silence, found the courage to call. 

Oh, she’d wanted to call. Every time one of his photos came through, she’d had to stop herself from reaching out just to hear his voice. She missed him more than she thought it was possible to miss someone, especially considering how short their time together had been. She didn’t trust herself to talk to him on the phone and not immediately get on a plane to fly back to the Keys.

It was the silly little things she missed most. His sleepy smile in the morning before he opened his eyes. The terrible instant coffee he kept in his cottage. How he’d always offer her a hand on the stairs without making a big deal of it. The sweet, quiet kisses just before they fell asleep. Even the way he hogged the bed, his legs always encroaching on her territory and tangling with hers.

The day he’d sent the photo of him and Trip, with Hunter’s smile only a shadow of the full, dimpled glory she remembered, she’d spent a long, restless night making list after list of reasons to stay in D.C.—and reasons not to. There’d been a lot more reasons not to.

So she’d called.

The wait between her saying his name and his reply had felt interminable, even if it had only been a few seconds. But then his voice came through the line, tender and warm, like he’d never held the lack of response against her.

He’d said her name—her full name, the one she’d given him the very first time they’d met with the stupid crabs and his beautiful smile and her knees threatening to go for various reasons— and everything had become crystal clear.

She had to go back. Maybe she’d hate Florida summers and winters without snow. Maybe the margaritas and seafood wouldn’t taste as extraordinary when they were available anytime. Maybe she’d even get tired of the view. There were no guarantees she and Hunter would work out in the long run, but she’d always regret never having tried. And she was tired of regrets.

May had looked a hell of a lot less surprised about Bobbi’s decision than Bobbi had been. In fact, she’d actually smiled, which in Senior Special Agent Melinda May’s book, was pretty much the highest badge of honor one could bestow. She hadn’t asked if Bobbi was sure, or if she wanted to think about it. She’d just nodded once, decisively, and reached for the phone.

“I’ll take care of it,” May had said. “And Bobbi, if you ever need anything, you know where to find me.”

Bobbi had filed that away and gone home to finally unpack her suitcase so she could pack it right back up again.

Turbulence rattled the plane a second time, and Bobbi braced herself against the wall before throwing away the damp paper towel and making a face at herself in the mirror. Nerves or not, there was no turning back now. They’d be landing in Key West soon, and this time she didn’t have an apartment or a job to go back to. Her whole future, once a detailed map complete with promotional timelines, was utterly, somewhat terrifyingly, unknown.

Someone jiggled the bathroom door handle like the ‘Occupied’ sign was just a suggestion and Bobbi sighed. “Hang on!” She checked her hair one last time—like it mattered when the humidity was going to wreak havoc on it anyway—and flipped the lock open. Squeezing past some guy in a garish, flower-printed shirt, her only thought was that Hunter would look way better in it. And out of it.

The captain’s voice came over the intercom as she made her way to her seat, letting the passengers know they’d begun their descent. Bobbi’s heart thumped a little faster as she buckled her seatbelt, unable to keep the smile off her face.

Only a little while longer and she’d be back on Crab Key. Hopefully, this time for good.

#

The late afternoon sunlight slanted through the Key West Airport windows, painting the chrome of the baggage claim gold and orange. The place was busier than the first time she’d come through, although thank goodness she had yet to see any loose crabs. She’d also yet to see her bag. She could have sworn she’d caught a glimpse of it through the crowd, but after wading (well, elbowing) through a group of excited tourists destined to be lobster-red by the end of their stay, it’d failed to materialize even after two full rotations of the conveyor belt.

The rest of the passengers from her flight were slowly drifting away, loudly chattering about beaches and sunshine and taxicabs while the last few bags spun forlornly, waiting to be claimed. She lifted up on her tiptoes to peer into the chute the bags exited from, but nothing new appeared. 

Shit, she hadn’t even had a layover, how did they lose her bag?

She groaned and internally added an extra hour before she made it to Mack’s Place. Before she’d see Hunter.

They’d talked every night since that first phone call, at first about silly, mundane life things. The differences in their weather (his was always perfect, hers was a perpetually dismal spring drizzle); how late she’d stayed at the office (always too late, in Hunter’s opinion, even if he was working the bar when he said it); what she missed most about the Keys (him, she always thought, before asking for the story behind the latest photo he’d sent).

It hadn’t been long before they were talking about a hell of a lot more. His childhood, her ambitions, the night she’d gotten shot, the day he’d finally walked away from the SAS. Every rambling conversation cemented what she already knew.

She’d made the right choice.

Although maybe telling him she was perfectly capable of getting herself from the airport to Crab Key wasn’t her wisest decision. She was practically vibrating with impatience, knowing she was so close and yet still so far. And now her stupid lost luggage was going to slow her down even more.

Spinning around, she scowled at the nearby row of airline offices, looking for the one she’d flown in on.

“No crabs this time?” a familiar voice drawled behind her.

The whole world stopped for one bright, brief instant, as she turned, her breath catching in her throat, to find Hunter leaning against a nearby pillar with her bag beside him. He was wearing his usual shorts and bright floral button-up, a smug smile playing on his face. She’d never seen anything more gorgeous.

“I heard you have plenty already.” She couldn’t seem to get her legs to move as she stood, drinking in the man who’d turned her life upside down and right side up all in one fell swoop.

“We do.” He pushed himself up and grabbed her bag, moving to stand in front of her, his eyes whiskey-warm in the sunlight. “Hello, Barbara.”

“Hunter, why…” she began, smiling so wide her cheeks hurt.

“What if you’d needed another daring rescue?”

She bit her lip, settling her hands on his chest and sliding them around his shoulders. “I’m afraid baggage claim is crab-free this time, but thank you.”

“Is it?” He lifted one eyebrow along with his hand, showing off a silver necklace with a spindly, multicolored metal crab sparking on the end of it.

Letting out a laugh, Bobbi curled her hand around the nape of his neck, reveling in the heat of his skin against her palm. “Well, it’s a good thing I’ve got you, then, isn’t it?” 

“Good thing.” He echoed, gazing at her. The wealth of emotions flickering across his face mirrored her own. 

Gently, she tugged him closer. “I missed you, Lance Hunter,” she whispered.

One of his hands settled at the small of her back and pulled her flush against him so they were nose to nose. He paused with his lips a hairsbreadth from hers. “Welcome home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Deviled Crab](https://www.southernliving.com/recipes/deviled-crab)


	17. Crab C'est Si Bon

Pine boughs poked at his face, chest, and other parts Hunter didn’t want to think about being in close contact with a tree. He wrestled the Christmas tree into the traditional corner of the bar that Mack had cleared for it. It cost a bloody arm and a leg to get a northern pine to the Key, so a single Christmas tree served the entire island. This one seemed especially full of yuletide joy. Currently, it was trying to spread the holiday spirit by shoving pine needles up his nose. Hunter sneezed. 

“Bless you,” Elena said as she heaved a box of ornaments onto a nearby table. 

He muttered a reply, smiling as Trip pulled out the dried seastar that served as the tree-topper every year. He held it over his head and grinned, making Daisy laugh. He couldn’t hear her over the chatter in the bar, which seemed far more packed than during even the height of the tourist season. Everyone showed up for Mack’s yearly tree-trimming parties. 

Eric sat at a table with Coulson, showing off a new shark ornament that had moving parts. Coulson held a box of intact sand dollars he’d collected over the years. They had little hooks so they could join the other sea and beach-related decorations on the tree, a few from every year-round resident. For this year Hunter had a miniature Hawaiian shirt on a hanger that Bob had given him as an early present, and she had a plastic crab. He adored that tiny shirt so much, and his girlfriend. 

“You about done, mate?” Hunter asked Mack, who was hunched down under the tree to secure it into its stand. “This thing weighs a ton.” 

There was indistinct grumbling from Mack’s direction, which Hunter assumed meant the tree wasn’t cooperating. 

“Bobbi!” Elena called, and Hunter craned his neck around just in time to see Bobbi, still dressed in the button-up shirt and brown shorts of her National Park job, walk into the bar. She had her hair braided up, the blonde even brighter from all the sun she got from working outdoors. 

His heart stuttered like it always did. 

She smiled widely at him, and he grinned back. 

“Hey, everyone,” Bobbi said. “I’d like you all to meet Melinda May.” Hunter had known she was taking a detour, after a morning of buffing the shells — or whatever she did — of sea turtles recovering at the rehab center, to run by Key West to pick up her former boss, but he still hadn’t noticed someone had walked into the bar with her until Bobbi pointed her out. 

May’s lips were set in a thin line. Her gaze swept the room, despite the casual dress she wore and the loose way her dark hair hung about her shoulders. She looked like she could kick everyone’s arse and not even break a sweat. 

Hunter’s gaze caught on Coulson, whose jaw hung open. He scrambled to his feet. “Welcome!” Coulson said. “Sit, have a drink.” Well, that was interesting. Coulson was a friendly guy, but he didn’t usually launch himself at newcomers. 

May’s eyebrow raised. 

“That’s Phil Coulson,” Bobbi supplied. “He owns a souvenir shop and a fishing boat which keeps this place in fresh seafood.” 

“Which one is yours?” May asked. 

“He’s currently molesting the tree.” 

“Oi! Bob!” he said, rolling his eyes. 

May’s brow went higher. “Nice shirt.” 

“Thank you?” It was one of his better ones, bright blue with palm trees. He needed to find one that matched the ornament for next year. 

“There,” Mack grunted, standing up and shaking pine needles from his hands. Those things got everywhere.

Hunter let go of the tree and stepped back. It stayed in place and he sighed in relief that there wouldn’t be a repeat of two years ago when they’d lost a table and had to turn the damaged side of the tree to the wall. 

Bobbi’s hand slipped under the tail of his shirt to rest on the skin of his back. Her fingers were warm. He pressed into her touch while turning his head for a quick kiss. 

“Any trouble?” he asked. 

“No new patients at the turtle hospital and the ocean is behaving itself today. There was only a little chop coming ” She leaned closer and dropped her voice. “I think May gets seasick. It was enlightening.” 

“To watch someone almost lose their lunch?” 

“To see that everyone has a weakness.” 

He hummed an agreement. “You’re my weakness.” 

Bobbi laughed. “Mine is your margaritas. I’ll have one, and one for May.” Bobbi glanced over her shoulder. May had been roped into sitting with Coulson and Eric, and actually looked intrigued as Eric made a gesture with both arms that Hunter thought was supposed to be a shark biting. Coulson appeared twitterpated. It was adorable and he was going to get his heartbroken. 

“Did I look as dumb when we met?” he whispered to Bobbi.

She poked his ribs. “You saved me from crabs…but yes, pretty much.” Her hand stroked his back and Hunter though he probably looked just as dopey right that second, standing in the middle of the bar, as he had that first day. Too bad for everyone else, he didn’t give one whit what they thought. 

“Margarita’s in a minute,” he murmured. “I want a proper hello-kiss first.” 

Bobbi furtively glanced around the room, then used the hand on his back to push him towards the hallway. They ended up in a storage closet with buckets that smelled of fish and salt. As soon as the door clicked shut behind Bobbi, he pushed her up against it, kissing her roughly. He put a hand on her hip, making sure she had all her weight shifted to her good leg so he wouldn’t accidentally hurt her as he welcomed her home. 

Her tongue teased his, slipping between his lips to play. He retaliated by flicking the top button of her starched shorts open and shoving his hand inside to rub her clit through her knickers. 

Bobbi moaned. Her head dropped back against the door with a thunk he hoped nobody in the main room could hear. “Hunter,” she breathed, fisting his shirt. “Please, Hunter.” 

“That’s the stuff,” he said, kissing her neck. He found the little spot right behind her ear that made her go wild every time, and she rocked her hips as he sucked there, his nose full of her sun and surf scent. He wiggled under the elastic of her knickers to rub her clit in just the right way to…to…to….

Bobbi came with a soft gasp, slumping against him. He put both his arms around her, holding her up while murmuring nonsense about how he’d missed her and how gorgeous she was. 

“How about you,” she asked hoarsely when her breathing had returned to normal. 

He checked in with his body. He was hot in the small room, nothing hurt, and while he was turned on, his prick wasn’t a full mast. Mostly, he was delighted he’d gotten her off so easily. “I can wait. Might have you blow me on the porch later.” It was the only thing that’d improve the view from his place. 

She laughed. “It’s a date.” Bobbi straightened up, patting her hair back into place. “Drinks?” She didn’t pull off looking like she hadn’t just come, with her eyes bright, cheeks flushed, and lips swollen, but Hunter wasn’t about to start complaining. 

“On the way.” He kissed her nose. 

Back in the main room, he headed to the bar while Bobbi went to check on May, who’d somehow managed to end up with Coulson out on the patio. 

The door opened again, letting in a sunburnt version of Fitz and Jemma, who’d come for the Christmas Holiday as well. Jemma wore a cover-up over her bikini and had sand on her knees. Fitz, who hadn’t made eye contact with anyone since Jemma had put on her little red swimsuit, was terribly sunburnt and currently trying to brush off the sand sticking to his back. 

“Sorry we’re late,” Jemma chirped, heading for the bar, Fitz trailing her and leaving sand in his wake. 

“I’m mixing up Key Lime Margaritas.” Hunter held up a shot glass. “Should I add two more?” 

“Please.” Jemma sat on a stool, and Fitz perched beside her. “Any chance of lunch? Swimming works up quite the appetite.” 

“Yeah,” Fitz agreed, his eyes still laser-focused on Jemma’s front. “Swimming.” 

Hunter snorted. “Elena’s got some hogfish and crab legs going, you’ll be good here in a tic.” 

“Perfect.” She turned to fuss at Fitz, handing him aloe gel, then plucking it out of his fingers when he didn’t move. She dumped it on her palm and started rubbing and muttering. 

Hunter’s mind drifted as he went through the familiar actions of mixing and pouring the drinks. Hell, when had he started liking his job? When had he begun liking that everyone knew him as the margarita guy and not as a hardened soldier who could tell the difference between a Hungarian and Romanian manufactured AK-47 just by the sound of it firing? 

He refocused on the sound of the ice and liquor in the shaker, a trick he’d learned in therapy to stay in the moment. 

He was mostly classified as Bobbi’s boyfriend these days, and he was good with that. She’d already started blossoming in the southern sun, her smiles quicker to form and she’d been working on learning that some things could be done tomorrow instead of today. 

Laundry was not one of those things, though he did appreciate getting clothes out of the closet instead of having to sniff his jeans to see if they’d be good for another day. 

He set a drink in front of Jemma and the fellow making sure her boobs didn’t disappear before carrying the other three margaritas out to the patio. 

“Here, luv,” he said, giving one to Bobbi. “And for you, madame.” He made a little bow as he handed May hers. She did not look amused. 

“Thank you.” May took a sip, and her face transformed. “This is amazing.” She turned towards Bobbi. “I can see the appeal now.” She put a hand on Coulson’s arm and directed him towards a corner of the patio, asking him about his boat.

Bobbi shook her head. “She needed a vacation worse than I did.” 

“I’ll take your word for it.” 

He gulped down a mouthful of margarita before setting it on the rail. Bobbi put hers down as well. She leaned against his side as he put an arm around her. The ocean lapped at the shore, gulls calling overhead as they wheeled through the sky. 

“Does it feel like home yet?” he asked. The wind picked up, cool from off the water, tugging at his shirt. 

“I can’t believe this was all here waiting for me. I wish it hadn’t taken a bullet for me to find it, to find you.” 

He squeezed her. “Hey, none of that. We met at just the right time. You would have hated me when I was younger, all full of piss and vinegar.” 

“Was it a fifty-fifty ratio? Or like sixty-forty piss to vinegar?” 

He chuckled. “Ask Fitz.” 

“I’m not sure he even knows what I look like.” 

Okay, that was fair. “The point—” he emphasized the words “—is that we’re good now, my little park ranger.” 

“That’s sea turtle rescue coordinator, Mr. Bartender.” 

Hunter opened his mouth. 

“No,” Bobbi interrupted. “If you start singing Piano Man you’re going to be sleeping on the couch.” 

It was an empty threat, but he shut his mouth to humor her anyway. 

Bobbi suddenly yelped and threw herself into his arms. “What happened?” he asked, bracing his hip against the rail as Bobbi stared daggers at the ground. He peeked around her to find a blue crab that must have wandered in from the beach. It waved its claws and looked as surprised as Bobbi. 

“Sorry, it startled me.” Bobbi let go of him. “Stupid crabs.” 

“Aye, mate,” he said to the bewildered crustacean. “Leave her alone. She’s taken and you’re good in soup.” He snagged the crab by the back of its shell and dropped it onto the sand on the other side of the railing. It scuttled off towards the waves. “And stay gone.” 

“What would I ever do without you?” Bobbi asked, bumping his shoulder with hers. 

Hunter picked up his drink and took a long sip. “Don’t know, but Bob, you’re never going to have to find out.” She toasted him with her margarita. “I’ll always be right here to save you from crabs.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Crab C'est Si Bon](https://www.myrecipes.com/recipe/crab-cest-si-bon)
> 
> Thank you so much for reading our story! It helped keep us sane this crazy summer and we hope it's been a bit of fun for you as well! <3 <3
> 
> Sun & Gort 8/26/2020


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